Saturday 
Nights 


Saturday 
Nights 


BY 

EARL  G.   CURTIS 


An  American  novel  that  deals 
with  the  emotions  that  lie  "below 
the  surface  of  life  —  emotions 
that  sway  the  masses  that  toil 


Chicago 
The   Reilly   &   Lee   Co. 


0-  $^ 


Saturday 
Nights 


BY 


EARL  G.   CURTIS 


An  American  novel  that  deals 
with  the  emotions  that  lie  "below 
the  surface  of  life  —  emotions 
that  sway  the  masses  that  toil 


Chicago 
The   Reilly   &   Lee   Co. 


Printed   in    the    V nit ed   8t  at  e  s    of   America 


Copyright,    1922 

by 
The  Reilly  &  Lee  Co. 


All   Rights   Reserved 


Saturday  Nights 


To 

Elizabeth    Henry   Lyons 
Great-granddaughter  of  Patrick 
Henry,  who  first  encouraged  me 
to  write,  this  book  is  dedicated 

E.  G.  C. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

1  A  BIT  o'  WHITE  GOODS 9 

2  IN  BURLEYTON 16 

3  VICE  GOES  TO  DEARBORN'S 26 

4  OVERTIME  ON  THE  BULK 34 

5  A  GOOD  RIDDANCE 46 

6  LURE  OF  THE  RIVER 60 

7  VICK  WINS  PROMOTION 75 

8  GALLOPIN'  DICK  JESSUP 87 

9  AT  THE  CROSS-ROADS 98 

10  CAVE-MAN  TACTICS 115 

11  THE  WAY  OF  A  WOMAN 132 

12  WHEN  BURLEYTON  WALKED 143 

13  THE  DECISION  OF  VICK 159 

14  A  SATURDAY  NIGHT 178 

15  VICK'S  NEW  VIEWPOINT 193 

16  ANOTHER  SATURDAY  NIGHT 201 

17  BACK  AT  DEARBORN'S 219 

18  UNRUFFLED  WATERS 228 

19  WHEN  A  MAN'S  A  FRIEND 243 

20  THE  FUTURE  BECKONS.  .  ,  253 


Saturday  Nights 

Chapter  1 
A  BIT  O'  WHITE  GOODS 

Vickery  Joyce's  gray  eyes,  brimming  with 
boyish  distress,  were  upon  Mrs.  Cooper  as  she 
started  from  the  room.  At  the  door  that  opened 
on  the  uncarpeted  passage  the  old  woman  turned 
and,  leaning  heavily  upon  her  stick  of  hickory, 
faced  Vick's  sister,  who  stood  as  if  the  pitiful 
weight  of  the  baby  in  her  arms  sagged  her 
shoulders. 

"  The  little  one  won't  live  the  night  out,  Sary," 
the  old  woman  declared,  in  the  decisive  manner 
of  one  who  had  seen  many  come  and  go. 

The  young  mother  clasped  her  child  tighter 
and  stared  in  dumb  misery. 

"  Not  the  night  out,"  the  neighbor  repeated. 

"I  can't  give  her  up,"  Sarah  Timmons  pro- 
tested dully. 

"We  gen'rally  has  to  give  up  'em  we  love 

9 


10  Saturday  Nights 

the  best,  dearie — we  women.  I  always  has 
thought  if  somebody's  got  to  go,  why  can't  it 
be  one  of  'em  what  don't  deserve  our  love  an' 
sorrow.  Not  'em  like  the  baby  or  Vick,  here. 
If  'twas  your  Jasper,  now — " 

Sarah  shrank  as  if  she  had  been  struck. 

"I  ain't  meanin'  to  hurt  your  feelin's,  child, 
but  there  ain't  no  use  in  beatin'  the  devil  'round 
the  stump,  I  say.  We  women  was  born  to 
sorrow,  an'  sorrow  we  see.  Whilst  your  man, 
now,  is  guzzlin'  in  some  bar — " 

"Please,  Mrs.  Cooper,  it's  more'n  I  can 
stand." 

"All  right,  Sary    .     .     .     I'm  goin',  now." 

Though  the  task  was  distasteful  Vick  accom- 
panied the  old  woman  through  the  dark  passage 
and  opened  the  front  door.  In  the  past  week, 
from  the  beginning  of  the  baby's  illness,  Mrs. 
Cooper,  by  her  insistent  pessimism,  had  incurred 
the  dislike  of  the  lad's  entire  fourteen  years.  To 
him  she  was  a  croaking,  withered  prophet  of 
evil. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  little,  Vick,"  the  old  woman 
promised.  "You  ain't  goin'  out?" 

"  No'm,"  Vick  answered. 

"  That's  a  good  lad.  'Tain't  so  many  young 
ones  would  want  to  stay  home  on  a  Sattiday 


A  Bit  o'  White  Goods  11 

night.  But  you're  diffrunt  from  the  rest,  seems 
to  me." 

"Yes'm." 

"You  listen  out  for  me,  then,  an*  let  me  in. 
There's  women's  work  to  be  done  this  night." 

The  boy  closed  the  door  and  went  back  to  the 
scantily  furnished  bed  room. 

"Want  me  for  anything,  Sis  ?"  he  asked,  try- 
ing, boylike,  to  speak  indifferently. 

"Not  now,  Vick,"  came  the  weary  reply. 

"  Call  me  if  you  want  me." 

In  the  kitchen  the  boy  took  a  paper-bound 
book  from  the  top  of  the  rickety  tin-door  safe 
and  pulled  the  lamp  nearer  to  the  edge  of  the 
table.  His  elbows  on  the  oilcloth  cover,  the 
light  almost  scorching  his  rumpled  brown  hair, 
he  sought  the  excellent  company  of  Sir  Nigel 
and  his  gallant  band  of  bowmen.  And  he  was 
still  in  the  pleasurable  perils  of  "The  White 
Company"  when  he  heard  the  tapping  of  Mrs. 
Cooper's  cane  at  the  door. 

With  one  finger  marking  his  place  in  the 
beloved  book  the  lad  admitted  her  and  followed 
her  into  his  sister's  room.  Under  the  old  neigh- 
bor's arm  was  a  bundle  wrapped  in  newspaper 
which  she  at  once  opened,  disclosing  a  small  roll 
of  cloth. 


12  Saturday  Nights 

"A  bit  of  white  goods  to  bury  the  baby  in," 
said  Mrs.  Cooper,  answering  the  questioning 
eyes. 

Sarah  shuddered  and  "  The  White  Company  " 
slipped  from  Vick's  fingers. 

"There,  there,  dearie,  just  think  a  minute. 
To-morrow's  Sunday,  ain't  it?  An'  the  baby 
ain't  goin'  to  live  the  night  through.  You've  got 
to  have  things  ready,  ain't  you?  You've  got  to 
have  a  dress  for  the  buryin'." 

"No,  no,"  Sarah  quavered.  Vick  stared  at 
Mrs.  Cooper  as  if  that  old  woman  were  the 
personal  messenger  of  death. 

Mrs.  Cooper  produced  scissors,  needle  and 
thread,  and  calmly  began  to  sew.  For  an  hour 
she  energetically  cut  and  stitched  and  never  for 
more  than  an  instant  did  the  mother's  gaze  leave 
the  cloth.  Vick  tried  to  read  but  his  mind 
wandered  and  his  eyes  often  strayed  to  the  tiny 
odd-shaped  pieces  rapidly  nearing  completion. 

As  the  old  woman  sewed  she  talked,  placidly 
droning  her  chronicle  of  births  and  deaths. 
Sarah  thought  she  must  scream  —  must  drop 
her  baby  and  cover  her  ears.  At  last  the  task 
was  ended  and  Mrs.  Cooper  held  the  garment 
to  the  light  for  a  final  complacent  inspection. 

"A  good  job,  I  say." 


A  Bit  o'  White  Goods          13 

Sarah  could  not  speak. 

"You're  worryin'  her!"  Vick  protested. 

"This  is  a  worryin'  time,"  Mrs.  Cooper 
observed  placidly.  "Bern'  a  boy,  you  don't 
understand." 

"Anyhow,  you  don't  have  to  put  more  worry 
on  her,"  insisted  Vick. 

"I'll  leave  the  little  dress  on  the  bureau," 
Mrs.  Cooper  continued,  calmly  ignoring  the 
protest.  "I'm  goin'  home  for  some  sleep,  bein' 
as  you  won't  lemme  stay  the  night.  Lad,  you 
run  over  after  me  when  — "  She  stopped 
abruptly;  even  she  could  not  but  heed  the 
anguish  that  convulsed  the  young  mother's  face. 

"  Lay  down  an'  rest,  Sary.  You  can't  do  the 
baby  no  good.  You're  breakin'  yourself  down. 
I  know  it's  hard — ter'bly  hard,"  she  went  on 
more  gently,  "but  you  try  an'  remember  that 
you  ain't  but  one  mother  what's  gone  through 
the  same  bitter  time." 

"Mrs.  Cooper,  I  couldn't  rest!"  the  younger 
woman  answered  passionately.  "How  could  I 
sleep  knowin'  my  baby  was  sufferin'?  I  just 
can't  let  her  go!" 

Shaking  her  aged  head  in  commiseration  Mrs. 
Cooper  once  more  went  out  into  the  night. 

"  Sis,  she's  tried  to  be  right  good  to  us,"  Vick 


14  Saturday  Nights 

commented,  "but  she  does  more  harm  than 
good,  gettin'  you  down-hearted  with  that  —  that 
dress." 

"  Mrs.  Cooper  means  well.  Vick "  Sarah 
answered  drearily. 

"Don't  you  keep  it,  Sis."  Vick  was  staring 
at  the  tiny  garment.  "  Throw  it  away." 

"  No,  no ! "  Sarah  exclaimed  sharply.  "  Don't 
touch  it,  Vick.  It  skeers  me!" 

"I  wish  she  hadn't  made  it,"  Vick  grumbled. 

After  a  time  Sarah  persuaded  the  boy,  in 
spite  of  sleepy  protests,  to  go  to  his  cot  in  the 
attic.  Alone  with  her  baby  she  dimmed  the 
light  and  began  to  pace  to  and  fro,  her  child 
upon  a  pillow  in  her  arms.  Once,  late  in  the 
night,  the  mother  paused  before  the  bureau  and, 
half-crouching,  stared  at  the  little  garment 
there,  as  if  it  were  a  living,  threatening  thing. 
She  did  not  approach  it  closely;  she  would  not 
have  dared  touch  it. 

The  sun  was  looking  in  the  window  when 
Vick  awoke.  Vaguely  aware  of  some  impend- 
ing evil,  he  tumbled  from  his  cot.  His  mind 
cleared  and  remembrance  sent  him  hurrying 
down  the  stairs.  He  found  the  baby  asleep  in 
its  crib  and,  on  her  knees  against  the  bed,  he 
saw  his  sister  in  the  sleep  of  exhaustion. 


A  Bit  o'  White  Goods  15 

Somehow  the  lad  helped  Sarah  upon  the  bed. 
He  was  covering  her,  gently  if  not  deftly,  when 
he  heard  Mrs.  Cooper  at  the  door.  When  the 
boy  admitted  her,  the  old  woman's  first  eager 
question  was: 

"An*  the  little  one  is  dead,  ain't  she?" 

Not  stopping  for  reply  Mrs.  Cooper  hurried 
into  the  room  .and  over  to  the  crib.  She  looked 
down  on  the  sleeping  baby.  And  to  the  old 
woman,  well-meaning  in  spite  of  her  insistent 
predictions  of  death,  there  came  the  faintest 
touch  of  disappointment.  Had  her  years  of 
experience  with  the  ebb  and  flow  of  life  and 
death  taught  her  nothing?  At  length  she  turned 
to  Vick,  bobbing  her  head  in  cheerful  conviction. 

"  The  baby'll  live,"  she  told  the  boy.  "  She'll 
live,  I  say." 

She  hobbled  over  and  patted  the  shoulder  of 
tKe  sleeping  Sarah  and  that  show  of  affection 
ended  Vick's  dislike  of  her.  He  was  smiling 
as  he  sought  the  sink  in  the  kitchen  to  wash 
away  the  last  traces  of  slumber  from  his  face. 

Not  long  after  Mrs.  Cooper,  toothlessly  mum- 
bling at  the  miracle  of  it  all,  tapped  her  way 
across  the  cobbled  street;  and  under  Her  arm  was 
a  small  bundle  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  newspaper. 


Chapter  2 
IN  BURLEYTON 

The  city,  ill-planned  from  its  beginning — or 
not  planned  at  all  —  stretched  its  length  along 
the  edge  of  the  turbulent  river.  Higher  up  the 
yellow  stream,  near  the  rock-strewn  falls,  which 
each  summer  exacted  their  toll  of  the  lads  of 
Burleyton,  the  blue  clay  bluffs  of  The  Heights 
climbed  steeply. 

From  the  exclusive  altitude  of  the  unbroken 
plateau  the  brain  and  blood  and  money  of  the 
city  looked  complacently  down  on  the  roofs  of 
the  community's  less  fortunate  folk.  Those  of 
Burleyton  who  dwelt  on  The  Heights  could 
appreciate  their  sweet-aired  retreat,  their  escape 
from  the  pungent,  distasteful  odor  of  tobacco 
in  the  manufacturing,  whence  came  their  money. 
The  workers,  from  intimate  daily  contact  with 
the  golden  dust  of  the  city's  industry,  scarcely 
noticed  the  penetrating  fumes. 

Below  The  Heights,  Tobacco  Flats  sprawled 
along  the  stream,  its  winding  streets  duplicating 

16 


In  Burleyton  17 

every  bend  of  the  river.  Along  the  bank,  crowd- 
ing to  the  water's  edge,  were  block  after  block 
of  brick-walled  factories  with  towering  chimneys 
scratching  the  sky  line.  Humming,  sweating 
human  hives,  these,  from  which  tobacco  in  its 
every  form  was  shipped  to  many  lands  to  sat- 
isfy the  appetite  of  men. 

Upon  a  gentle  slope,  sweeping  back  from  the 
factory-lined  river,  the  homes  of  those  who 
labored  stood  row  after  row,  very  close,  along 
the  shabby  streets  and  shabbier  unpaved  alleys. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  city,  where  the  stream 
flowed  in  a  graceful,  swift-rushing  curve,  Little 
Hell  —  which  had  earned  its  name,  long  since  — 
lay  snugly  in  the  hollow  of  the  river's  arm. 

In  one  of  the  meanest  streets  of  the  Flats 
was  the  home  of  little  Vick  Joyce,  a  dilapidated 
cottage  of  two  rooms  and  the  attic  where  the 
boy  slept.  The  house  was  perched  unsteadily 
upon  three-foot  brick  columns  that  every 
moment  threatened  to  collapse.  Beneath  the 
structure  the  winds  of  winter  swept  unchecked, 
whipping  upward  through  the  wide  cracks  of 
the  time-warped  floor. 

Wretched  as  was  this  home  it  satisfied  Jasper 
Timmons.  It  was  bitterly  cold  in  winter  but 
there  were  big,  cherry-red  stoves  in  the  barrooms 


18  Saturday  Nights 

and  there  he  spent  most  of  his  idle  hours.  The 
house  was  big  enough;  the  back  room  for  cook- 
ing and  eating,  the  front  room  for  sleeping — 
what  time  he  slept  at  home.  He  needed  no 
more. 

In  the  previous  December  Vick's  father  had 
died,  leaving  him  alone  in  the  world  but  for  his 
married  sister.  Sarah  had  watched  for  her 
opportunity,  and  catching  her  husband  in  an 
amiable  mood,  a  difficult  feat,  be  it  understood, 
had  prevailed  upon  him  to  let  the  boy  make  his 
home  with  them. 

So  Vick  came  to  live  in  Yarder  Street,  with  a 
laboriously  accumulated  bundle  of  books,  dime 
editions  of  famous  works,  and  little  else.  Of 
his  books  "The  White  Company"  was  his 
favorite;  he  worshiped  Sir  Nigel  in  humble  rev- 
erence. Timmons  had  profanely  insisted  that 
the  boy  at  once  seek  work.  Vick  was  no  better 
than  he,  he  informed  Sarah  with  profane  empha- 
sis, and  he  had  gone  into  a  factory  when  he  was 
younger  by  a  year  tHan  Vick,  as,  indeed,  had 
the  great  majority  of  those  who  lived  in  Tobacco 
Flats.  Sarah,  though  fearful,  had  protested 
and  obtained  grudging  permission  for  Vick  to 
finish  the  term  at  the  grammar  school. 

This  session  would  gain  him  admittance  to 


In  Burleyton  19 

Burleyton  High,  if  he  could  remain  in  school — 
and  that  Vick  wanted  to  do  above  all — but  he 
knew  that  Timmons  never  would  agree,  so  his 
hopes  of  high  school,  his  dream  of  college,  faded 
and  he  began  to  count  the  days  that  remained 
before  he  must  pass  through  the  gates  at 
Dearborn's. 

If  these  were  dreary  days  for  Vick  they  were 
no  brighter  for  his  sister.  Sarah  had  found 
married  life,  with  such  a  husband  as  Jasper 
Timmons,  far  from  what  she  had  imagined  it  to 
be  in  the  days  of  her  girlhood.  It  lightened  her 
burden  not  a  bit  to  realize  that  she  had  married, 
not  for  love,  but  to  escape  the  fate  of  so  many 
of  her  Burleyton  sisters,  work  in  the  tobacco 
factories.  That  had  appeared  to  her  the  worst 
possible  life.  Now  she  laughed  bitterly  as  she 
thought  of  it;  work,  even  the  hardest,  would 
have  been  pleasure  compared  to  life  with  Jasper 
Timmons. 

From  the  first  days  of  their  married  life  the 
man  had  proved  harsh  and  cruel,  coming  home 
drunk  when  he  came  at  all.  The  coming  of 
the  baby  served  but  to  increase  his  ill  temper 
and  the  infant's  illness  he  regarded  as  the  crown- 
ing injustice  done  him  by  his  wife.  Sarah  grew 
to  welcome  the  Saturday  nights  that  her  hus- 


20  Saturday  Nights 

band  spent  in  the  Burleyton  saloons;  life  would 
have  been  more  endurable  then  but  for  the  fact 
that  when  he  did  not  come  home  there  was  no 
money.  Somehow  she  managed  to  make  ends 
meet  —  or  nearly  meet,  and  found  what  solace 

she  could  in  her  baby  and  her  brother. 

***** 

Timmons,  leaving  his  wife  alone  in  her 
anguished  watch,  did  not  cross  the  threshold  of 
his  home  until  the  Monday  morning  following 
the  crisis  in  the  life  of  his  child.  That  Saturday 
night,  and  the  day  and  night  of  Sunday,  he 
stayed  away.  SaraH  could  Have  guessed  his 
whereabouts  had  she  bothered. 

He  came  in  with  the  break  of  day,  surly  and 
breathing  of  barrooms.  His  lank,  uncombed 
black  hair  was  plastered  against  his  forehead 
and  the  muscles  of  his  limbs  jerked  with  the 
nervousness  of  dissipation.  From  between  lids 
heavy  with  the  weight  of  sleepless  hours  his  eyes 
glowed  with  alcoholic  anger. 

Sarah  heard  him  stumble  into  the  passage 
and,  leaving  the  baby  in  peaceful  slumber, 
hastened  into  the  kitchen.  Timmons  leered  as 
if  daring  her  to  expostulate  but  she  had  no  word 
for  him.  He  offered  no  explanation  of,  or 
excuse  for  his  prolonged  absence  and  she  held 


In  Burleyton  21 

herself  aloof,  cold  of  eye,  disdaining  to  evince 
the  slightest  interest  in  his  goings  and  comings. 
Deftly  she  prepared  what  there  was  for  break- 
fast and  Timmons,  after  washing  his  face  at  the 
sink,  clumped  to  the  table. 

Eating  was  not  for  him  that  morning;  he 
swore  viciously  at  the  food  but  gulped  down  the 
steaming,  black  coffee.  It  was  half-past  six 
when  he  noisily  thrust  back  his  chair  from  the 
table  and  jammed  a  disreputable  hat  upon  his 
throbbing  head.  The  seven  o'clock  whistle  must 
find  him  on  his  floor  at  Dearborn's,  where  he 
bossed  a  gang  of  negro  stemmers.  At  the  door 
he  turned,  with  an  oath  at  his  forgetfulness. 

"Where's  that  blasted  kid?"  he  demanded,  his 
voice  husky. 

"Upstairs." 

"  The  pampered  pup  ! "  Timmons  exclaimed. 
"Here  I'm  sick's  a  dog  an'  got  to  go  to  work, 
an'  he's  up  there  snoozin'.  Get  him  up!" 

"He  don't  leave  for  school  till  after  eight. 
There  ain't  no  need  of  him  gettin'  up  this 
early." 

"There  ain't?"  Timmons  blustered.  "I  say 
there  is,  an'  you  ought  to  know  by  this  time 
that  what  I  say  goes.  I  got  him  a  job  at  Dear- 
born's and  he's  due  there  this  mornin'." 


22  Saturday  Nights 

"Have  you  forgot  that  you  promised  to  let 
him  finish  the  grammar  school  ? "  For  the 
sake  of  the  little  brother  Sarah  tried  to  speak 
pleasantly. 

"I  ain't  forgot  nothin'.  I  say  he's  goin'  to 
work  an'  pay  his  own  way." 

Sarah  eyed  the  angry  man  calmly.  The 
events  of  recent  days  had  given  her  a  certain 
faith  in  herself — a  self-reliance  long  lacking. 
She  was  touched  with  the  spirit  that  had  been 
hers  in  the  days  of  her  girlhood. 

"Lemme  tell  you  somethin',  Jasper  Tim- 
mons!"  she  answered,  quivering  in  her  indigna- 
tion. "  You'd  just  as  well  go  on  to  the  fact'ry. 
Vick  ain't  goin'  to  work  this  mornin'  at  Dear- 
born's—  or  any  other  place.  He's  set  his  heart 
on  finishin'  the  grammar  school,  at  least,  an'  I 
say  he's  goin'  to!" 

"I  been  hearin'  that  song  long  'nough," 
Timmons  sneered. 

"The  first  of  February,  next  We'nesday,  is 
the  last  day.  He'll  finish  then."  There  was  no 
small  pride  in  her  voice.  "  Thursday  he'll  go  to 
Dearborn's.  He  expects  to  go  to  work — then. 
He  shan't  go  before." 

"Yah!"  Timmons  snarled.  "That's  all  I 
been  hearin'  —  school  this  an'  school  that.  What 


In  Burleyton  23 

good'll  schoolin'  do  him  in  a  tobacco  fact  ry?  I 
didn't  finish  no  school." 

"Did  you  want  to?" 

"I  had  more  sense  than  to  waste  my  time 
thataway.  I  knew  I  had  to  dig  for  my  livin' 
an*  I  got  out  an'  dug.  I  didn't  have  no  sucker 
of  a  brother-in-law  to  sponge  on.  I  got  that  kid 
a  job  an'  he's  got  to  get  to  work.  That's  all 
there's  to  it!" 

"Thursday,"  Sarah  said  stubbornly. 

"I'm  tired  of  feedin'  him." 

"From  the  way  you  been  actin'  you're  tired 
of  feedin'  us  all,"  the  wife  bitterly  commented. 

'You  won't  get  as  much  as  you  been  gettin' 
if  you  keep  on  playin'  with  me,"  Timmons 

threatened,  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him. 

***** 

Vick  stood  with  the  boys  of  the  graduating 
class  under  the  knobby  old  mulberry  tree  that 
graced  the  front  yard  of  the  school.  To  the  lad 
the  naked  limbs  of  the  tree  were  as  familiar  as 
the  fingers  of  his  hands.  The  girls  of  the  class, 
with  shining  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks  —  flowers 
against  the  russet  background  of  the  old  brick 
building — clustered  upon  the  weather-beaten 
steps  as  the  boys  formed  in  line  to  march  up  to 
Burleyton  High. 


24  Saturday  Nights 

In  the  confusion  Vick  slipped  away  from  his 
schoolmates.  He  was  one  of  them  no  more. 
The  day  was  cold  and  he  shivered  in  his  thread- 
bare jacket  as  he  leaned  against  the  picket  fence. 
There  was  a  painful  lump  in  his  throat  but  with 
the  pride  of  boyhood  he  choked  back  his  dis- 
appointment. The  little  column  swung  off 
down  the  street  and  Vick,  with  yearning  eyes, 
watched  those  lucky  ones  until,  two  blocks  away, 
they  disappeared  around  a  corner. 

The  lad  felt  a  light  touch  upon  his  arm  and 
he  stifled  his  sigh  of  disappointment.  Beside 
him  stood  Hesba  Wyatt,  as  shy-eyed  and  incon- 
spicuous as  usual,  but  smiling.  Vick  and  the 
girl  had  won  their  way  through  Springview 
School  always  in  the  same  class.  Vick  liked 
Hesba  and  this  liking  increased  his  natural  shy- 
ness till  he  was  miserable  when  they  met. 

"I'm  sorry,  Vick,"  the  girl  said.  "I'm  not 
going  up,  either." 

'You're  not  going  to  work?"  Vick  exclaimed. 

"  No.  At  least  not  yet.  But  mother  couldn't 
afford  to  buy  me  the  books  for  High.  They 
cost  over  twelve  dollars.  .  .  .  Anyhow,"  the 
girl  added  bravely,  "mother  needs  me  at  home." 

With  a  demure  good-bye  she  left  Vick  dig- 
ging his  toe  in  the  ground  and  staring  at  the  old 


In  Burleyton  25 

school  house.  He  thought  sadly  of  the  days  he 
had  spent  there,  with  their  fun  and  sorrow.  He 
thought  of  his  favorite  teacher  and  how  they 
had  talked  of  the  day  when  he  could  go  to  col- 
lege. Now  it  was  all  over ;  tomorrow  he  started 
to  work  at  Dearhorn's.  With  heavy  feet  Vick  at 
length  turned  toward  the  house  in  Yarder 
Street 


Thursday  morning  Sarah  prepared  two 
lunches  instead  of  one.  At  her  call  Vick  came 
down  from  the  attic  and  a  few  moments  later 
was  hastily  swallowing  his  breakfast,  fearful  of 
delaying  the  departure  of  the  hurrying  Tim- 
mons. 

The  lad  never  forgot  his  first  morning  at 
Dearborn's.  They  reached  the  factory,  a  ten- 
minute  walk  from  the  tumble-down  house  in 
Yarder  Street,  a  quarter-hour  before  the  whistle 
blew  for  seven,  when  the  entrance  would  be 
barred  to  late  comers. 

They  climbed  the  stairs  to  the  third  floor,  the 
top,  where  Timmons  took  the  youngster  to  a 
shirt-sleeved  giant  of  a  man  from  whom  good- 
nature seemed  to  ooze. 

"  This  is  the  kid,  Lynn.  Put  him  to  work,  will 
you?"  said  Timmons. 

Lynn  gravely  regarded  the  lad,  who,  tongue- 
tied  as  usual,  held  his  distance.  Then  the  man 

26 


Vick  Goes  to  Dearborn's         27 

» 

smiled.  His  smooth  pink  cheeks  rolled  up  until 
they  nearly  obliterated  his  eyes,  and  Vick's  shy- 
ness surrendered  to  the  amiability  which  radiated 
from  his  boss. 

"  What's  your  name  ? "  Lynn  asked  pleas- 
antly. 

"Vickery  Joyce,  sir." 

"Just  call  him  Vick,"  Timmons  said  shortly. 

"All  right.     Come  along,  Vick." 

Lynn  showed  the  youngster  a  nail  in  the  wall 
where  he  might  hang  his  coat.  This  done,  Vick 
found  himself  the  target  of  a  battery  of  ap- 
praising stares  from  a  group  of  boys  about  his 
own  age  who  lounged  sleepily  near-by,  his 
future  comrades  in  toil. 

The  whistle  signaled  the  real  beginning  of 
the  day  and  Lynn  led  Vick  to  a  square,  low 
table  at  which  three  boys  had  taken  their  places. 
Vick  took  the  stool  at  the  vacant  side.  On  the 
table  were  four  shoe  brushes,  from  which  daub- 
ers and  handles  had  been  cut. 

"This  is  Vick  Joyce,  boys.  Dill,  you  start 
him  off,"  Lynn  directed,  and  waddled  away  to 
more  important  duties. 

The  lad  whom  he  had  addressed,  a  little  older 
than  his  companions,  sat  to  Vick's  right.  A 
corner  of  his  mouth  twisted  upward  in  a  per- 


28  Saturday  Nights 

petual  leer  which  added  years  to  features  dis- 
agreeable enough  otherwise.  He  handed  the 
newcomer  one  of  the  brushes. 

"That's  yours,"  he  said  gruffly,  much  as  Jas- 
per Timmons  might  have  said  it. 

The  youth  directly  across  from  Vick  surveyed 
him  with  the  frank  curiosity  of  boyhood.  Here 
was  one  of  whom  it  could  not  be  said  merely 
that  he  had  freckles — his  face  was  one  brown 
splotch  of  them,  from  the  roots  of  his  shock  of 
sandy  hair  down  to  his  chin.  He  noted  the  be- 
ginner's lack  of  ease  and  he  took  the  trouble  to 
bestow  upon  Vick  a  deliberate  grin  of  com- 
radery. 

"Just's  well  make  yourself  at  home,"  he  ad- 
vised, in  a  lazy  drawl  that  was  half  a  yawn. 

To  the  remaining  boy  Vick  was  apparently 
no  source  of  interest  whatever.  He  could  not 
have  been  more  than  ten  and  was  about  two- 
thirds  asleep.  Once  Vick  was  certain  he  would 
tumble  from  his  stool,  but  at  the  critical  moment 
he  waked,  blinked,  and  wearily  humped  his 
scrawny  shoulders  again. 

In  the  immediate  vicinity  three  more  tables 
were  surrounded  by  their  quota  of  boys.  A 
tall,  muscular  darky,  stripped  to  undershirt  and 
trousers,  bore  down  on  Vick's  circle,  burdened 


Vick  Goes  to  Dearborn's         29 

with  a  slatted  crate  of  loose  leaf  tobacco,  made 
flexible  by  raw  steam.  Unceremoniously,  the 
darky  dumped  the  contents  of  the  crate  upon 
the  middle  of  the  table. 

Dill,  with  a  knowing  glance  at  his  com- 
panions, shoved  the  greater  portion  of  the  steam- 
ing mass  under  Vick's  nose.  The  vapor  almost 
hid  the  lad  and  the  fumes  choked  him,  yet,  as 
much  as  he  wanted  to,  he  would  not  leave  the 
table.  Gasping,  he  pluckily  held  his  place. 

"Aw,  Dill,  what  you  tryin'  to  do  ?"  he  of  the 
sandy  hair  remonstrated. 

"Toughen  him  up,  Shad,"  Dill  replied. 

"That's  dirty— he  ain't  used  to  it." 

"He's  got  to  be  sick,  ain't  he?"  Dill  asked 
sneeringly,  and  answered  the  question  for  him- 
self, "Sure  he  has!" 

"He  ain't  bound  to,"  Shad  protested.  "I 
never  was  sick." 

"But  he's  going  to  be,  all  right,"  Dill  glee- 
fully announced.  "Look  at  him  now." 

In  truth,  Vick  was  ill.  Deep  in  the  pit  of 
his  stomach  an  uneasy  stir  threatened  for  a 
period  to  overcome  him.  But  he  desperately 
resisted  and  at  length  with  a  grunt  of  dis- 
approval Shad  leaned  over  and  swept  the  pile 
of  tobacco  back  to  the  center  of  the  table. 


30  Saturday  Nights 

"If  Lynn  knew  this  he'd  sure  hop  you?"  he 
said  to  Dill. 

"  Rats  ! "  Thus  Dill  expressed  his  contempt 
of  authority. 

"Here,  you,  Jimmy."  Shad  poked  a  rude 
forefinger  into  the  ribs  of  the  fourth  boy. 
"Change  places  with  Vick  here.  Lemme  show 
him  what  he's  got  to  do." 

Vick  learned  to  spread  the  tobacco  flat,  hold- 
ing it  open  with  fingers  stretched,  and  with  his 
brush  clean  each  leaf  of  the  fine  white  sand  that 
clung  to  it.  This  leaf,  of  the  finest  grade,  went 
into  the  making  of  a  brand  of  "chewing"  that 
had  much  to  do  with  making  Dearborn's  an 
establishment  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  to- 
bacco industry. 

A  simple  enough  task,  requiring  nothing  of 
brains  and  little  of  muscular  effort,  yet  well 
worth  the  wages  it  brought  each  Saturday  to  the 
youthful  wielders  of  the  brush;  one  dollar  and 
eighty  cents  a  week,  if  a  lad  worked  full  time, 
thirty  cents  a  day,  ten  hours  at  three  cents  an 
hour. 

Vick,  though  the  odious  vapor  gave  him  a 
headache,  gradually  began  to  take  interest  in 
the  busy  scene  in  which  he  played  so  unimportant 
a  part. 


Vick  Goes  to  Dearborn's         31 

In  gangs  of  half  a  score  or  more  negro  stem- 
mers  sat  in  circles  around  piles  of  loose  tobacco. 
Down  the  room,  where  at  intervals  the  sun 
somehow  penetrated  the  dust-yellowed  glass  of 
the  windows,  the  bright  tin  cutters  gleamed  on 
the  thumbs  of  the  workers  as,  with  admirable 
economy  of  movement,  they  slashed  the  stems 
free  of  the  leaves.  A  monster  hogshead  rolled 
past,  propelled  by  the  shoulders  of  a  sweating 
quartette  of  black  and  brown  huskies,  the  strain- 
ing slats  creaking  snapping  protests  at  the 
weight  they  encompassed. 

When  the  whistle  blew  at  noon  Vick  did  not 
disturb  the  lunch  in  his  coat  pocket.  Crate  after 
crate  of  the  steaming  leaf  had  been  dumped  on 
his  table,  and  now  his  stomach  revolted  at  the 
idea  of  food.  The  stemmers  disappeared  down 
the  stairs  to  the  shops  outside  on  Main  Street, 
where  a  can  of  soup  and  a  pone  of  corn  bread 
were  to  be  had  for  a  nickel.  Finding  a  place 
near  Vick,  Shad  began  to  eat  biscuit  sand- 
wiches with  an  appetite  which  was  at  least 
vigorous, 

"Didn't  you  bring  a  lunch?"  he  mumbled, 
mouth  full. 

"I  don't  feel  much  like  eating,"  Vick  an- 
swered, attempting  to  smile. 


32  Saturday  Nights 

"It  gen'rally  always  makes  'em  sick,"  Shad 
said  with  laconic  directness.  "  You'll  be  all 
right  by  to-morrow,  I  reggon." 

"Do  all  the  boys  get  sick?" 

"Some  are  sicker'n  others  but  they're  all 
squeamish  —  all  'cept  me,"  Shad  proudly  an- 
swered. "They  had  to  send  Dill  down  in  the 
yard  for  air." 

"Then  why  was  he  so  crazy  to  see  me  sick?" 
Vick  asked  in  surprise. 

"Aw,  that's  just  his  meanness,"  Shad  replied. 
"Dill's  nachully  mean  an'  he  likes  to  pick  on 
the  new  boys.  But  don't  you  bother  'bout  him. 
Me  an*  you're  friends,  hey?" 

"I'd  like  for  it  to  be  that  way,  Shad." 

The  hours  of  the  afternoon  were  longer  than 
those  of  the  morning,  and  when  at  last  six 
o'clock  unbarred  the  factory  doors  it  was  a  worn- 
out,  headachy  Vick  who  set  out  for  Yarder 
Street. 

The  lad  refused  to  be  downcast.  Tomorrow 
he  would  feel  better — would  be  more  accus- 
tomed to  the  steaming  vapor.  Shad  had  said 
so.  As  Vick  hurried  along  the  keen  winter  air 
cleared  his  brain  and  the  incidents  of  the  day 
trouped  in  troubled  array  before  him.  He 
glowed  at  the  memory  of  the  simple  friendship 


Vick  Goes  to  Dearborn's        33 

that  had  come  to  him  —  unsought,  yet  none  the 
less  welcome.  The  companionship  of  Shad — 
whose  real  name  was  Carlyle  Fish — would  go 
far  toward  lightening  the  burden  of  the  long 
work  days. 

At  the  memory  of  Dill,  Vick's  lips  tightened 
in  resentment.  He  knew  he  would  never  over- 
come his  dislike  of  the  leering-faced  boy  and  it 
came  to  him  that  in  Dill  were  the  makings,  in 
foul  words  and  sneaking  acts,  of  a  second  Jasper 
Timmons. 


Chapter  4 
OVERTIME  ON  THE  BULK 

Dearborn's  was  a  large  establishment,  even 
for  a  tobacco  town  like  Burleyton.  The  tables 
of  the  brushers  occupied  only  a  small  part  of 
the  third  floor,  most  of  which  was  allotted  to  the 
stemmers,  negroes  all — men,  women  and  chil- 
dren. Hanging  from  enormous  rafters  over- 
head sheaves  of  yellow  tobacco — "hands"  — 
bound  and  tied  at  the  thick-stemmed  butts  by  a 
single  twisted  leaf,  gave  to  the  farther  recesses 
of  the  huge  room  the  weird  dimness  of  a  low- 
roofed  cavern. 

At  the  rear,  near  the  head  of  the  stairs,  was 
the  steaming  room,  the  murky  interior  of  which 
was  walled  ceiling-high  with  rack  upon  rack 
of  steel  pipe.  In  this  air-tight  compartment 
"hands"  of  tobacco,  fresh  from  the  hogsheads 
and  as  hard  and  brittle  as  glass,  were  steamed 
into  workable  pliability. 

This  evening  the  quitting  whistle  at  Dear- 
born's meant  six  o'clock,  and  nothing  else,  to 

34 


Overtime  on  the  Bulk  35 

those  of  the  third  floor.  The  command  had 
been  passed  from  the  superintendent  through 
the  foremen  to  the  least  inconsequential  worker, 
"  Overtime  on  the  bulk."  Shad  interpreted  for 
the  benefit  of  Vick. 

"What's  it  mean?  Means  we  got  to  stay 
till  'bout  ten  to-night,  untyin'  bunches  of  stinkin' 
tobacco  an'  loosenin'  up  the  leaves  for  the 
stemmers." 

"  When  do  we  eat  our  supper? "  Vick  wanted 
to  know. 

Shad  grinned.  "You  ain't  goin'  to  get  no 
supper — not  till  we've  worked  the  bulk." 

In  a  large  cleared  space  just  outside  the 
steaming  room  a  mammoth  pile  of  tobacco  lay 
— the  bulk.  Its  top  touched  the  rafters  and 
from  it  steam  rose  as  from  a  miniature  volcano. 
The  youthful  brushers  wearily  followed  the 
throng  of  stemmers  and  hogshead  men,  each 
carrying  a  stool  or  empty  box.  They  arranged 
themselves  in  a  circle  surrounding  the  bulk, 
every  one  leaving  floor  space  at  the  left  to  drop 
the  unbound  leaves. 

The  boys  gravitated  naturally  into  a  little  line 
of  their  own  and  Shad  showed  Vick  how  to  re- 
lease, without  tearing,  the  leaf  that  secured  each 
"hand."  Another  treatment  of  the  steam  and 


36  Saturday  Nights 

the  leaves  would  be  ready  for  the  slashing  cuts  of 
the  stemmers. 

At  Dearborn's,  the  lump  room  occupied  the 
second  floor.  There  the  stemless  tobacco  was 
treated  to  a  bath  in  vats  of  thinned  licorice  and 
grape-sugar,  and  thus  sweetened,  was  jammed 
into  close-packed  "lumps"  —  unfinished  plugs 
of  "chewing"  —  by  the  darky  lump-makers. 
Here,  too,  each  lump  acquired  its  binder,  a 
wrapper  of  tiny-veined  leaf,  from  the  nimble 
fingers  of  the  nip-coverers. 

On  the  first  floor  was  the  press  room.  Here 
the  lumps  were  tagged  and  rammed  into  racks 
of  oblong  cups,  "simpers,"  top  and  bottom  in 
contact  with  sheets  of  tin  well  greased  with  a 
savory  mixture  of  rum  and  oil,  for  flavor;  then 
squeezed  into  marketable  thinness  by  hydraulic 
pressure  before  the  final  packing,  under  the 
"screws,"  into  wooden  caddies. 

As  Vick  settled  himself  to  the  new  task  his 
eyes  roved  curiously,  scanning  faces  of  black 
and  shades  of  brown,  some  wonderfully  myste- 
rious under  the  flare  of  naked  gas  lights  which 
flickered  against  the  whitewashed  walls. 

Very  near  the  lad  a  fat  old  mammy,  jowl- 
bulging  and  mountainous,  sat  crooning  to  two 
of  her  brood  who  labored  at  her  side,  and  Vick's 


Overtime  on  the  Bulk  37 

interest  centered  upon  this  yellow-turbaned 
darky  as  she  began  to  sway  unsteadily  on  her 
creaky  cracker  box.  Suddenly  the  old  woman 
started  a  soul-stirring  hymn,  her  shrill  voice 
rising  quickly  to  a  scream,  wild  and  exultant. 

"  Go-o — an'  fin'  —  de  one  —  I  lo-ove 
Go-o — an'  bring  —  him  ba-ack 
Bring — him  back — to  Je-e-sus " 

At  once  the  negroes,  even  to  the  unseen  side 
of  the  circle,  swept  impetuously  into  the  emo- 
tional chant,  their  bodies  swinging  in  instinctive 
rhythm,  and  the  natural  sweetness  of  their  un- 
trained voices  rose  and  blended  into  harmony 
that  caused  Vick  to  forget  his  work  and  sit  idle, 
listening. 

"Better  wake  up,"  Shad  said.  "You  ain't 
doin'  a  thing,  Vick." 

"It's  grand — the  way  they  sing,"  Vick  an- 
swered. "Don't  you  like  to  hear  'em,  Shad?" 

"This  here's  overtime." 

"But  ain't  it  fine?" 

Shad  shrugged.  "You  soon  get  used  to  it," 
he  told  Vick.  "Course  'taint  nobody  can  beat 
'em  singin,'  an'  it's  all  mighty  nice  for  'em 
dressed-up  folks  what  comes  to  the  fact'ry  to 


38  Saturday  Mghts 

hear  'em — but  you'll  be  like  me  after  a  while. 

It's  all  in  the  day's  work." 

***** 

In  the  beginning  Vick  could  not  help  but 
resent  his  new  mode  of  existence.  But  he  came 
to  believe,  he  had  to  believe,  that  what  was  to  be, 
would  be;  the  increasing  friendship  with  his 
factory  mates  gave  to  him  a  different  view- 
point of  life  as  it  was  lived  in  Burleyton,  and 
he  accepted  his  lowly  state  as  a  matter  of  course. 
The  stork  had  dropped  him  within  the  indigent 
confines  of  Tobacco  Flats,  where  Saturday  was 
the  beginning  and  the  ending  of  the  week,  the 
only  worth-while  day  of  the  seven.  The  lad 
understood  fully  that  he  was  for  the  factory — 
if  not  Dearborn's,  then  some  other.  School, 
now,  was  in  a  past  already  strangely  dim  and 
he  became  as  sloven  of  speech  as  Shad,  who  was 
by  choice  a  conscienceless  barbarian. 

In  the  bleak  wintry  days  of  March  Vick  en- 
tered the  factory  before  the  coming  of  broad 
daylight,  and  the  darkness  had  returned  when 
he  wriggled  into  his  coat,  another  thirty  cents 
earned.  At  noon  each  Saturday  he  received  his 
pay  envelope  and,  the  seal  intact,  carried  the 
money  to  his  sister.  Timmons  had  grown  more 
neglectful,  if  that  were  possible,  and  Sarah  was 


Overtime  on  the  Bulk  39 

thankful  for  the  boy's  money.  His  share  of  his 
pay  was  one  dime,  which  invariably  was  spent 
at  a  second-hand  book  store  kept  by  a  negro 
shoemaker  down  near  the  market. 

Came  a  forenoon  at  Dearborn's  when  the 
speaking  tube,  clasped  against  an  oaken  pillar 
behind  Vick,  breathed  a  raucous  blast  that  in- 
stantly received  the  attention  of  Lynn.  He 
nodded  his  understanding  as  he  listened. 

"All  right,"  he  shouted,  and  snapped  shut  the 
whistle  in  the  mouth  of  the  tube. 

"  They  want  help  in  the  smokin'  room,"  Shad 
hopefully  guessed. 

Lynn  rumpled  his  hair  in  momentary  inde- 
cision. 

"  Jarrett  wants  two  of  you  down  in  the  base- 
ment," he  said. 

The  eager  intentness  upon  the  faces  of  the 
boys  showed  that  a  place  in  the  smoking  room 
was  more  desirable.  Vick  had  before  this  hour 
listened  to  the  shop  gossip  of  easier  work  and 
more  money  in  the  basement  where  the  smoking 
tobacco  was  pouched,  and  he  was  as  eager  as  the 
rest  for  a  chance  to  win  a  steady  job  there. 

"Dill,  you  go,"  Lynn  ordered,  "an'  take  Vick 
with  you." 

The  genial  foreman  had  not  failed  to  note  the 


40  Saturday  Nights 

antagonism  between  the  two  lads,  and  it  was 
his  wholesome  wish  that  his  young  underlings 
should  work,  since  they  had  to  work,  in  agree- 
able harmony.  Therefore  he  sent  them  together. 
Aside  from  this  he  had  an  idea  that  Vick  was 
of  better  stuff  than  the  others  and  he  had  decided 
some  time  before  that  he  would  give  the  boy  an 
opportunity  to  better  himself.  Lynn,  himself 
a  bachelor,  had  known  the  lad's  sister  in  the  days 
when  she  was  Sarah  Joyce. 

Vick  followed  Dill  and  in  his  zest  for  the  new 
task  he  failed  to  see  the  warning  wink  of  Shad. 
Instead  of  heading  directly  for  the  stairs  the 
elder  boy,  a  smirk  upon  his  face,  made  straight 
for  the  elevator  shaft. 

The  elevator  at  Dearborn's  was  raised  by  man- 
power, and  in  the  descent  its  weight  allowed  it 
to  drop  until  stopped  by  the  check-line.  Loaded 
with  a  hogshead  of  tobacco  it  required  the  united 
strength  of  six  brawny  negroes,  two  stationed  on 
each  floor,  to  pull  it  upward. 

Dill  peered  into  the  shaft  and  chuckled  his 
satisfaction  when  he  found  the  roofless  car  at 
the  basement  landing,  idle  for  the  minute.  With 
a  shifty  backward  glance  to  assure  himself  that 
no  boss  saw  him,  he  poised  himself,  and  leaped 
outward.  His  hands  caught  the  steel  cable  that 


Overtime  on  the  Bulk  41 

hung  from  the  drum  a  few  feet  overhead  and 
there  he  clung  like  a  monkey. 

"What  you  doin'?"  Vick  cried. 

"  Goin'  down  to  the  smokin'  room,"  Dill  sneer- 
ingly  answered.  "Come  on — you  skeered?" 

"Naw,"  Vick  resolutely  replied. 

"Then  come  on.  Jarrett's  waitin'  for  us. 
Lynn'll  see — you  wanter  get  us  fired?" 

Safe  descent  by  the  stairs  would  have  branded 
Vick  a  coward  in  the  mind  of  Dill.  Shad  and 
the  others  would  certainly  hear  of  it;  the  mock- 
ing face  of  the  youth  on  the  cable  promised  that. 

Vick  knew  he  would  miss  the  cable  and  his 
vivid  imagination  made  him  see  himself,  bruised 
and  lifeless,  at  the  bottom  of  the  shaft.  Yet  he 
sprang.  And  the  momentum  of  the  ill-judged 
leap  was  nearly  his  undoing.  The  impact  of  his 
body  against  the  cable  threw  him  back,  but  his 
fingers,  frantically  clutching,  caught  and  held, 
though  he  slipped  perilously,  his  feet  jamming 
the  shoulders  of  the  sneering  Dill,  before  he 
gained  complete  control  of  his  actions. 

"  What  you  tryin'  to  do — knock  me  off?  "  Dill 
snarled. 

With  nothing  between  him  and  the  bottom 
but  Dill  and  eighty  feet  of  cable  Vick  hung  on 
grimly. 


42  Saturday  Mghts 

"Naw,  I  ain't  tryin'  to  knock  you  off,"  he 
answered.  'You  started  this  thing — finish  it," 
he  retorted. 

Down  on  the  first  floor  a  darky  leaned  into 
the  shaft,  spat,  and  noted  that  the  elevator  was 
empty.  He  pulled  the  check-line  tight  and  se- 
cured it  to  a  hook,  thus  releasing  the  trigger  on 
the  drum  above.  At  his  side  swung  a  two-inch 
rope  and  upon  this  he  heaved  mightily.  The 
elevator  began  to  rise. 

Overhead,  Vick  felt  himself  go  up  as  the  cable 
began  to  wind  upon  the  drum.  He  heard  Dill's 
cry  of  terror.  He  knew  that  to  cling  to  the 
rising  cable  meant  crushed  hands  and  a  hor- 
rible fall. 

"Slide  down!"  he  called  to  Dill. 

This  Dill  did,  heedless  of  possible  broken 
threads  of  the  woven  cable  that  would  have 
slashed  him  like  knives.  Vick  lowered  himself 
more  cautiously,  now  and  again  glancing  up  at 
the  drum  to  make  sure  that  he  held  his  distance. 

The  platform  of  the  elevator  was  even  with 
his  floor,  and  stationary,  when  the  darky 
stepped  upon  it.  Dill,  and  a  moment  after, 
Vick,  dropped  at  the  surprised  negro's  side. 

"  One  ob  dese  here  days  you  boys  gwineter  fall 
on  top  a  man  an'  hu't  him,"  he  grumbled.  "An* 


Overtime  on  the  Bulk  43 

kill  yo'selbes  in  de  bargain,"  he  added,  but  the 
boys  had  fled  before  he  concluded  his  warning. 

Jarrett  put  Vick  to  work  "  weighing  up."  His 
task  was  always  to  have  in  readiness  upon  the 
scales  an  exact  four  ounces  of  tobacco  for  the 
gaping  mouths  of  the  tins,  over  the  smaller  ends 
of  which  cloth  sacks  were  "skinned"  with  an  in- 
strument used  in  much  the  same  manner  as  a 
shoe  horn. 

There  is  a  deftness  gained  only  by  practice 
and  natural  aptitude  in  picking  up  the  exact 
weight  of  "shag"  or  "granulated"  and  dropping 
it  into  the  scoop.  Taking  the  time  to  add  or 
subtract  a  bit  delays  the  entire  line  of  hurrying 
workers. 

Sometimes  Vick's  scoop  was  too  light,  and 
then  too  heavy,  and  he  added  and  took  away  in 
frantic  haste,  seeking  an  even  balance.  There 
followed  a  noisy  protest  whenever  the  empty 
tins  piled  up  on  him.  But  the  lad  kept  resolutely 
at  the  task  and  noon  found  him  doing  well 
enough. 

As  usual  at  lunch  time  he  sought  the  company 
of  Shad  and  while  they  ate  he  told  his  chum  of 
the  adventure  in  the  elevator  shaft. 

'You  got  to  watch  that  scum,"  Shad  warned 
him.  "Dill's  mean  an'  he  don't  like  you,  an' 


44  Saturday  Nights 

in  his  sneaky  way  he'll  try  an'  get  the  bosses 
down  on  you." 

"I  got  my  eyes  on  him,"  Vick  answered  con- 
fidently. "  I  ain't  skeered  of  him." 

"I  know  you  ain't,"  Shad  agreed.  "But  if 
he  had  it  in  for  me,  an'  me  an'  him  was  on  that 
cable  together,  I'd  be  kinder  leery." 

Vick  did  well  the  early  part  of  the  afternoon. 
In  fact,  in  his  youthful  optimism,  he  arrived  at 
the  conclusion  that  as  a  weigher-up  he  was  a 
success.  Visions  of  a  raise  in  wages  —  more 
money  on  Saturday  for  Sarah — thrilled  him. 

He  was  whistling,  unheard  in  all  the  clatter, 
when  old  Mr.  Dearborn  himself  stepped  into 
the  room.  Several  times  Vick,  at  a  distance 
he  had  not  desired  lessened,  had  seen  the  owner 
of  the  factory,  who  hid  the  real  kindness  of  his 
heart  beneath  a  blustering  manner.  His  beard, 
snow-white,  except  where  the  juice  of  his  fa- 
vorite plug  had  stained  it,  reached  halfway  to 
his  waist.  He  was  fully  conscious  of  his  power 
and  had  the  habit,  embarrassing  at  times  to  his 
foremen,  of  appearing  unexpectedly  for  a 
critical  inspection.  And  what  he  failed  to  see 
was  not  worth  seeing. 

There  was  a  surprised  pause  as  the  "  big  boss" 
entered,  and  then  a  deafening  slam  and  bang  to 


Overtime  on  the  Bulk  45 

make  up  for  the  momentary  loss  of  time.  In 
the  brief  interval  Dill,  across  the  table  from  the 
scales,  reached  over  and  tossed  a  large  handful 
of  tobacco  into  the  scoop.  And  on  top  of  that 
Vick  mechanically  dropped  four  ounces  more. 
The  searching  eyes  of  the  old  man  detected  the 
gross  over-weight  as  he  came  up. 

"Boy,  boy!"  he  boomed.  "What  in  hell  are 
you  trying  to  do?  Ruin  me?" 

His  voice,  deep  and  bell-toned,  carried  even 
to  the  girls  who  labeled  and  filled  sacks  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room. 

Dill  snickered.  That  did  not  help  Vick. 
To  the  lad  it  seemed  that  a  thousand  eyes  were 
upon  him,  and  a  thousand  ears  awaited  his 
answer.  He  had  none.  He  did  not  under- 
stand, he  could  not  explain  the  overflowing 
scoop  of  tobacco. 

"Send  him  away!"  old  Dearborn  roared. 
"Get  rid  of  him!  You  hear  me,  Jarrett?  He's 
trying  to  get  a  pound  of  shag  into  a  four-ounce 
sack!" 

Jarrett,  a  cringing  little  man,  walked  over  to 
Vick. 

"  Go  on  up  to  Lynn,"  he  ordered. 

Vick  climbed  the  stairs,  wiping  away  with  a 
bare  arm  scalding  tears  of  humiliation. 


Chapter  5 
A  GOOD  RIDDANCE 

March  passed  blusteringly  to  make  way  for 
a  balmy  April,  bringing  more  than  a  hint  of 
spring.  The  noon  of  Saturday,  payday,  ended 
the  factory  week.  Eating  shops  and  barrooms 
were  crowded  to  the  doors  with  chattering 
darkies,  good-natured  as  children  with  money 
to  spend.  On  Main  Street  they  thronged  in 
the  warm  sun,  even  to  the  cobbled  gutters,  some 
carrying  soup  in  tomato  cans,  upon  which  a 
pone  of  corn  bread  was  skillfully  balanced. 

It  was  Timmons'  invariable  custom  to  stop  in 
several  of  the  barrooms  that  swung  their  slatted 
doors  along  his  way  and  often,  so  alluring  was 
the  pleasure  he  found,  Saturday  was  yesterday 
when  he  reached  his  home.  At  these  times,  fre- 
quent of  late,  he  had  nothing  or  merely  a  pit- 
tance, left  of  his  wages. 

Therefore  Sarah  was  surprised  today  when 
Jasper  came  in  upon  the  heels  of  Vick,  who 
never  tarried.  His  arrival,  sober,  brought  his 

46 


A  Good  Riddance  47 

wife  the  cheerful  hope  that  he  had  perhaps  come 
to  a  mending  of  his  neglectful  ways.  Sarah 
needed  money,  needed  it  urgently;  for  the  past 
few  weeks  Vick's  wages  had  been  the  greater 
portion  of  her  income. 

She  immediately  opened  her  brother's  envelope 
and  sent  him  scurrying  to  a  near-by  store.  She 
thought  to  take  especial  care  with  dinner,  with 
a  vaguely  formed  idea  of  reaching  Timmons' 
heart  through  his  appetite. 

Vick  came  back,  panting  in  his  haste. 

"Heard  the  news,  Sis?"  he  asked  excitedly. 
"We're  goin'  to  war  with  Spain." 

"  I  ain't  heard  nothin'.   Who  told  you,  Vick? " 

"  Saw  it  in  the  paper.  A  man  had  one  down 
at  the  store.  It  says  it's  rumored,  but  I  heard 
the  man  tell  the  clerk  that  it's  a  dead  sure 
thing." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  said  Sarah. 

Timmons  heard,  but  made  no  comment.  He 
ate  his  dinner  in  moody  silence,  with  never  a 
word  of  appreciation  for  the  extra  dishes  Sarah 
had  prepared,  and  his  wife  soon  realized  that  the 
mending  of  his  ways  was  still  remote  and  that 
the  money  and  effort  spent  on  the  meal  had  been 
wasted. 

His   appetite   appeased,   the  man   wiped  his 


48  Saturday  Nights 

mouth  with  the  hairy  back  of  a  hand  and  left 
the  table.  Sarah,  too,  arose.  Not  until  her 
husband  had  put  on  his  hat  did  he  reach  for  his 
money.  Then  he  thrust  five  dollars,  not  half 
his  pay,  at  her. 

"Jasper,  I've  got  to  have  more  money  than 
that,"  she  told  him. 

Timmons   scowled,   and   reluctantly   added   a 
dollar  bill. 

"More  than  that,"  Sarah  repeated,  holding 
out  her  hand. 
"More?" 

;<Yes,  more,"  Sarah  replied,  brave  in  her 
desperation. 

"You  can  take  this  here  or  leave  it,  an*  I 
don't  care  a  plugged  nickel  which  you  do!" 
Timmons  blustered. 

"Listen,  Jasper,"  the  wife  pleaded,  "if  we 
was  not  so  deep  in  debt  I'd  take  the  six  dollars 
an*  make  myself  satisfied,  but  we're  'way  behind, 
man.  The  last  two  Sattidays  you  didn't  give 
me  hardly  anything.  We  been  livin'  most  all 
the  time  lately  on  what  Vick's  been  puttin' 
here." 

"I  don't  care,"  Timmons  sullenly  answered. 
"I  took  care  of  him  long  'nough,  didn't  I?  If 
you  want  this  here  money  you'd  best  take  it. 


A  Good  Riddance  49 

An'  don't  play.  It's  the  last  you're  goin'  to 
get  outer  me." 

"  What  d'you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  I'm  done.  I'm  sick  an'  tired  of  this 
here  hecklin'.  If  I  give  you  as  much  as  you 
think  you  orter  have,  there  wouldn't  be  none 
for  me." 

"I'd  tell  you  to  go  your  way,"  Sarah  delib- 
erately answered,  "an'  joy  go  with  you,  if  'twas 
just  me.  But  what  of  your  baby,  Jasper  Tim- 
mons?" 

"Blast  the  yowlin'  kid!"  the  man  growled. 
"It  —  " 

He  never  completed  the  sentence.  Sarah,  her 
hand  hardened  by  unflagging  toil,  struck  him  in 
the  face  with  all  her  strength.  At  the  blow  Tim- 
mons'  face  darkened  with  rage  and  he  made  a 
savage  lunge  at  her,  but  the  girl  tore  away  and 
ran  to  the  other  side  of  the  table,  where  she  stood, 
a  picture  of  panting  defiance. 

Vick  had  not  moved  during  the  quarrel.  Truth 
to  tell,  he  was  afraid  of  Timmons.  Now,  at  the 
unexpected  crisis,  he  slid  unnoticed  from  his 
chair  and  crouched,  ready,  at  the  next  blow,  to 
defend  his  sister. 

Inarticulate  in  his  rage,  Timmons  rushed 
around  the  table  in  pursuit  of  Sarah,  but  she 


50  Saturday  Nights 

somehow  managed  to  evade  him.  Then  the  man 
tried  new  tactics.  With  an  oath  he  upended  the 
table,  sending  it  crashing  to  the  floor,  and  with 
it  he  pinned  his  wife  against  the  wall. 

"Got  you!"  he  snarled  triumphantly. 

"Run,  Sis,  run!"  Vick  shouted,  and  leaped 
upon  the  man,  beating  at  his  inflamed  face  with 
both  fists.  The  boy's  best  efforts  could  not  hurt 
the  big  factory  hand  but  they  did  delay  his 
attack  on  his  wife.  He  swept  Vick  from  him 
with  one  blow  that  sent  the  boy  tottering  the 
length  of  the  room  to  fall  against  the  wall. 

In  that  moment  Sarah  had  struggled  free  of 
the  table.  She  started  to  run  from  the  room  and 
was  at  the  door  when  her  backward  glance 
showed  her  Vick  was  helpless.  She  screamed. 

"  Quit  that  hollerin' ! "  Timmons  hoarsely  com- 
manded. 

In  Yarder  Street  it  was  considered  bad  form  to 
invade  the  home  of  a  neighbor,  especially  to  in- 
vestigate a  feminine  cry  of  distress.  Yet  at 
times  policemen  so  far  forgot  themselves  as  to 
drift  into  the  narrow  thoroughfare  and  as  Sarah 
continued  her  piercing  calls  for  help  Timmons' 
rage  subsided  into  something  of  alarm. 

"Stop  that  hellish  yellin',  I  tell  you!" 

Uneasy,  the  man  glanced  into  the  passage  and 


A  Good  Riddance  51 

to  his  consternation  Mrs.  Cooper  scuttled  into 
the  room. 

"What's  wrong,  Sary,  my  dear?"  the  neigh- 
bor demanded. 

"He's  killed  Vick!"  Sarah  wailed. 

She  was  on  her  knees,  the  lad's  head  upon  her 
lap.  A  livid  bruise  was  fast  discoloring  his 
cheek  and  he  was  unconscious.  Mrs.  Cooper, 
moving  swiftly  with  her  cane,  placed  a  basin  of 
water  and  a  towel  on  the  floor. 

"Bathe  his  face,"  she  said  to  Sarah. 

"  An*  you ! "  the  old  woman  continued,  blazing 
fiercely  at  Timmons.  "Ain't  you  'shamed  of 
yourself — a  big  hulkin*  brute — hittin'  a  little 
fellow  like  him?  Your  own  wife's  brother!" 

She  jabbed  her  cane  close  to  his  face  and 
Timmons  stepped  back.  The  man  did  not  relish 
the  slashing  quality  of  her  tongue. 

"  We  ain't  got  on  together  sence  he  come,"  he 
surlily  defended  himself. 

"An'  you  didn't  get  on  before,"  Mrs.  Cooper 
retorted.  "You  can't  blame  your  mean  doin's 
on  that  boy!" 

"He's  got  to  go  —  or  me!" 

"Well,  go  then!"  Sarah  cried,  looking  up 
from  Vick,  who  now  was  conscious.  "You  said 
you  was  —  now  go  I " 


52  Saturday  Nights 

"I  ain't  comin'  back." 

"Good  riddance!"  Sarah  snapped  angrily. 

Timmons  slouched  out.  Mrs.  Cooper  knelt 
beside  Sarah. 

"Don't  you  worry,  Sis,"  Vick  whispered. 

"The  lad'll  stick  to  you,"  Mrs.  Cooper 
assured  her. 

Sarah  helped  Vick  to  a  chair  and  placed  a 
pillow  for  his  aching  head.  Mrs.  Cooper  helped 
her  stand  the  table  upon  its  tottering  legs.  The 
old  woman  was  surprisingly  agile. 

"  There's  somethin*  T  can  say  now,"  she  told 
Sarah.  "  I  been  wantin'  to  say  it  for  a  longish 
time.  But  I  couldn't  think  of  havin'  Jasper 
Timmons  in  my  house." 

"In  your  house?" 

"Yes.  Thank  God,  my  Jim  had  his  life 
insured  an'  with  the  money  I  bought  the  house 
across  the  way.  I'm  goin'  to  get  rid  of  the 
boarders.  I  got  'nough  to  keep  me  an'  I'm  tired 
of  waitin'  on  folks  I  don't  care  'specially  'bout." 

Sarah  listened  in  perplexity. 

"Now  here's  what  I  been  gettin'  at.  I  got 
two  rooms  upstairs  over  there  an'  I  want  you  to 
have  'em.  An'  I  ain't  goin'  to  charge  you  nary 
a  cent." 

"Mrs.  Cooper—" 


A  Good  Riddance  53 

The  old  woman  cut  short  the  protest.  "  Not 
a  word,  now,  dearie.  For  'em  what  I  cares  for 
I'll  do  anything  I  can.  I  care  for  you  an'  Vick 
an'  the  baby.  You  can't  stay  on  here." 

"  I'll  pay  for  the  rooms,  Sis,"  Vick  promised. 
"  I  won't  even  buy  a  book  on  Sattidays." 

The  women  talked  and  planned,  with  now  and 
then  a  word  from  the  boy,  and  it  was  settled 
that  Sarah  would  accept  the  rooms,  without 
charge,  until  she  could  leave  her  baby  for  the 
entire  day.  She  would  then  go  to  work.  Mrs. 
Cooper  gladly  agreed  to  take  care  of  the  child 
while  Sarah  was  at  the  factory. 

"It's  a  shame  you  got  to  go  back  to  work, 
Sary,"  she  commented.  "  You  thought  you  was 
free  of  the  fact'ry." 

"I  won't  mind  much,  I  reggon,"  Sarah 
answered.  "  I'm  tired  of  all  this."  Her  gesture 
took  in  the  two  squalid  rooms. 

"I  ain't  never  had  no  faith  in  that  Jasper 
Timmons,"  Mrs.  Cooper  said  flatly.  She  would 
speak  her  thoughts. 

"He  won't  bother  me  none,  now,"  Sarah 
replied,  grave  of  face.  After  all,  she  had 

dreamed.     "He  ain't  comin'  back." 

*  *  *  #  # 

The  Wednesday  of  the  week  following  Tim- 


54  Saturday  Mghts 

mons'  departure  Sarah  moved  her  few  posses- 
sions across  the  street  into  Mrs.  Cooper's  house, 
a  mansion  compared  with  the  wretched  quarters 
she  vacated.  The  new  rooms  were  large  and 
airy.  With  Vick's  cot  curtained  off  in  the 
kitchen  they  would  do  very  well. 

When  the  boy  climbed  the  stairs  with  the  last 
chair  upon  his  aching  back  Sarah  heaved  a  sigh 
of  deliverance.  At  last  she  felt  that  she  was 
free  of  Jasper  Timmons.  She  had  heard  no 
word  from  him,  yet  during  every  waking  minute 
she  had  dreaded  that  the  man  would  return  to 
Yarder  Street.  Somehow,  once  clear  of  the  old 
place,  she  felt  secure. 

In  her  new  home,  for  home  she  meant  the 
rooms  to  be,  Sarah  was  seized  with  her  old-time 
desire  to  brighten  things  up  and  the  rooms  soon 
took  on  an  atmosphere  of  cheerfulness.  Almost 
content,  she  wished  only  for  the  Saturdays  that 
would  bring  her  wages,  that  she  might  in  some 
measure  at  least,  repay  Mrs.  Cooper's  kindness. 

That  evening,  when  Vick  came  in  from  Dear- 
born's, he  found  with  his  sister  Mrs.  Cooper  and 
a  girl  in  cool  white  waist  and  trim  skirt  of 
brown.  She  turned  as  Vick  entered  the  room, 
stared  an  instant,  then  smiled  in  friendly 
recognition. 


A  Good  Riddance  55 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Vick  ? "  she  asked. 

Sarah  and  Mrs.  Cooper  looked  on  in  mild 
wonder. 

"Hesba!     Hello,  Hesba,"  Vick  stammered. 

The  lad  had  not  seen  the  girl  since  that  day 
of  bitterness  —  the  last  at  school. 

"An*  you  know  my  niece,  Vick?"  Mrs.  Cooper 
asked  in  surprise.  "How'd  you  young  ones 
come  to  know  each  other,  that's  what  I'd  like  to 
know?" 

"We  went  to  school  together,  Aunt." 

"Well,  I  declare,  Sary,"  the  old  woman  ejac- 
ulated. "Don't  that  beat  the  beater?" 

Vick  found  a  seat.  "  What  you  been  doin*  all 
this  time,  Hesba?" 

"I've  been  keepin'  house  for  mother,  Vick," 
the  girl  replied.  "  She's  been  an  invalid." 

"  She's  been  kept  too  close,  poor  dear,"  Mrs. 
Cooper  said. 

"Where  d'you  live?"  Vick  inquired,  more 
polite  than  curious. 

"Right  here  in  this  house,"  Mrs.  Cooper 
promptly  replied  for  her  niece.  "From  now 
on,  right  here.  Hesba's  mother's  dead,  Vick, 
an'  she's  come  to  live  with  me." 

"Oh,"  said  Vick. 

"  She's  my  only  kin,  now,  her  mother  was  my 


56  Saturday  Nights 

sister,"  Mrs.  Cooper  elaborated.  "  She's  got  to 
go  to  work  later  on,  poor  dear." 

"  I  don't  mind,"  Hesba  hastened  to  say. 

"  It's  a  shame,"  the  old  woman  sighed.  :<  You 
ought  not  to  have  to  work,  Hesba.  I  wish  I 
was  able  to  take  keer  of  you,  but  I  ain't,  an' 
that's  all  that's  to  that.  Ain't  no  use  m  wastin' 
time  regrettin',  1  say." 

"  Seems  to  me,  Mrs.  Cooper,"  Sarah  laugh- 
ingly commented,  "that  you're  the  only  one 
who's  doin'  any  regrettin'.  Hesba  don't  seem 
to  be  worryin'  none." 

"I'm  not,"  Hesba  declared. 

"Where're  you  goin'  to  work  at?"  Vick  was 
interested. 

"At  Winter's  I  reggon,"  Mrs.  Cooper 
answered  for  the  girl.  "  That's  what  we  come  up 

for,  to  talk  to  Sary  'bout  it." 

*         (   *  *  *  * 

Vick,  craving  the  companionship  of  his  kind, 
began  to  go  out  at  night.  That  was  his  right. 
He  was  a  worker.  Whatever  she  thought,  the 
sister  could  not  protest.  She  was  sensible 
enough  to  realize  that  the  lad,  after  being  kept 
indoors  all  day,  needed  recreation. 

For  some  time  Shad  had  been  threatening 
to  come  up  on  Yarder  Street  and  carry  Vick, 


A  Good  Riddance  57 

whether  he  would  or  no,  down  to  his  "corner" 
and  introduce  him  to  his  particular  cronies. 
Their  gathering  place  was  the  flickering  spot  of 
yellow  light  beneath  a  gas-lamp  beside  a  lumber 
yard  near  the  wharves. 

Vick,  more  than  a  little  doubtful,  finally  con- 
sented to  make  the  journey,  a  dozen  blocks  or 
so  from  home.  He  found  the  company  rough 
of  language,  but  congenial  enough,  and  the  next 
night  saw  him  at  the  corner  again.  His  native 
timidity  in  the  midst  of  strangers  was  soon  con- 
quered by  the  clannish  comradery  of  the  youth- 
ful gangsters.  In  most  of  them  there  was  no 
vindictive  meanness.  They  had  their  code  and 
lived  it. 

So  Vick  came  to  run  with  the  lumber  yard 
gang;  to  be  one  of  them,  and  not  the  least 
important.  He  and  Shad  became  closer  chums. 

As  Vick  won  the  confidence  of  his  fellows  he 
grew  as  rudely  independent,  as  grimy  and  as 
uncombed  as  the  toughest  of  them.  Except  in 
one  thing;  he  would  not  talk  as  the  other  boys 
talked  of  or  to  a  girl.  Somehow  he  had  inher- 
ited an  instinctive  respect  for  womanhood. 

The  craving  for  adventure — within  the  law 
or  without — lured  him  on.  Although  he  no 
longer  read  his  books,  his  imagination  was  as 


58  Saturday  Nights 

vivid  as  ever.  When  a  night-raiding  party  was 
organized  to  invade  the  pigeon  cotes  of  some 
unpopular  citizen,  Vick  was  always  a  member. 
But  his  companions  could  scarcely  have  under- 
stood the  spirit  in  which  he  entered  the  ventures. 
He,  like  the  knights  of  old,  stole  upon  some 
embattled  castle  to  rescue  from  the  clutches  of 
an  evil  chieftain  a  beautiful  maiden  in  distress. 
On  these  raids  Vick,  feverish  in  his  eagerness, 
was  always  to  the  fore,  and  his  daring,  his  readi- 
ness to  assume  risks,  quickly  placed  him  among 
the  leaders  of  the  gang. 

These  lads  were  not  inherently  dishonest. 
The  year  round,  monotonous  day  after  day,  they 
were  penned  within  factory  walls,  and  counted 
themselves  fortunate,  indeed,  to  be  within  peep- 
ing-out  distance  of  a  window.  They  were 
keenly  alive.  There  had  to  be  some  outlet  for 
their  youthful  vitality. 

When  Vick  arrived  at  the  corner  one  evening 
one  of  the  less  venturesome  lads  approached 
him. 

"Tonight's  choir  night  at  the  church,  Vick, 
an'  Preacher  Minor's  hired  me  to  pump  the 
organ.  Wanter  make  a  dime?" 

"Sure." 

"He  told  me  to  get  'nother  boy  to  spell  me. 


A  Good  Riddance  59 

A  dime  for  me  an*  a  dime  for  him.  Wanter 
go?" 

"I  do  that,"  Vick  replied.  A  dime  for  an 
hour  of  his  time,  more  of  play  than  work, 
appealed  to  him. 

"What's  all  that,  Herb?"  It  was  Shad,  who 
had  just  come  up,  who  asked  the  question. 

"Vick's  goin'  to  help  me  pump  the  organ," 
Herb  explained. 

"We're  goin'  after  Sanders'  pigeons,"  Shad 
carelessly  replied.  "We  owe  him  somethin'  an* 
we  ain't  had  no  fun  for  days.  Vick's  goin'  with 
me." 

The  zest  of  the  hazard  made  Vick's  blood 
leap.  He  saw  himself  stealing  with  the  silence 
of  a  ghost  across  the  yard  of  old  man  Sanders' 
place  toward  the  pigeons'  home  in  the  barn. 

"I  reggon  I  can  get  somebody  else,"  Herb 
reluctantly  said. 

"I  reggon  you'd  better,"  Vick  told  him. 
"He's  countin'  on  me,  Shad  is." 

The  lad  saw  no  wrong  in  his  choice.  On  one 
hand  were  safety  and  the  certainty  of  ten  cents, 
on  the  other  hand  danger  and  the  uncertainty  of 
reward.  In  his  keenness  for  excitement  Vick 
made  his  choice  with  a  conscience  untroubled. 


Chapter  6 
LURE  OF  THE  RIVER 

Hot  nights  came,  bringing  with  them  the  call 
of  the  cool  river.  And  Vick  learned,  to  his 
boyish  disgust,  that  he  was  the  only  one  of  the 
gang  who  could  not  swim.  His  reputation,  won 
by  courageous  exploits,  tottered;  he  lost  caste. 
One  of  the  smaller  boys  twisted  a  quid  in  his 
cheek,  spat,  and  boastfully  swore  that  he  could 
swim  before  he  was  able  to  walk.  Vick  doubted 
the  statement  but  envied  the  little  braggart. 
However,  Shad  promised  that  the  defect  in  his 
pal's  education  should  be  remedied  at  once. 

Under  the  planking  of  a  wharf,  where  the 
river  mud  was  black  and  sticky,  the  boys  shed 
their  clothes,  hanging  their  scanty  garments 
upon  the  cross  beams  overhead.  At  this  place 
the  greater  portion  of  the  gang  had  learned  to 
swim. 

Five  yards  out  in  deep  water  was  a  short, 
uneven  row  of  piles,  all  that  remained  of  an  old 
wharf.  Their  tops,  slippery  with  green  slime, 

eo 


Lure  of  the  River  61 

rose  a  foot  and  a  half  above  the  unrippled 
surface. 

With  a  world  of  confidence  in  the  ability  of 
his  pal,  Vick,  as  instructed,  grasped  Shad's 
shoulders  and  lay  motionless  while  Shad  towed 
him  out  to  the  piles,  to  which  he  clung  preca- 
riously. 

"Here's  how  I  learned,"  Shad  said.  "I  just 
paddled  an*  kicked  'longside  these  here  piles. 
'Course,  I  couldn't  stay  up  long  at  first  hut 
when  I  felt  myself  goin'  under  I  reached  up  an' 
grabbed  hold  of  a  pile." 

"S'pose  you  missed  your  grab?"  Vick 
thought  that  a  logical  question. 

"  I  never  did,"  Shad  said. 

"But  S'pose  you  had?"  Vick  insisted. 

"Aw,  somebody  would  have  pulled  me  out." 

He  showed  Vick  the  simple  movements  of 
"dog-paddle,"  which  custom  decreed  that  every 
lad  of  Burleyton  must  master  before  essaying 
the  more  difficult  strokes. 

"Now,  try  it,"  Shad  commanded.  "An* 
'member  one  thing  all  the  time.  If  you  start 
to  sink  don't  get  skeered.  I'm  here  to  pull  you 
out.  All  you  need  is  to  think  you're  all  right." 

Vick  mortally  hated  to  leave  his  anchorage. 
But  he  did,  and  stayed  upon  the  water  at  least 


62  Saturday  Mghts 

two  seconds  before  he  reached  for  and  hugged 
the  friendly  pile. 

"That's  learnin',"  Shad  applauded,  hovering 
close.  "You're  makin'  it  all  right,  Vick.  Try 
again ! " 

Vick  tried  once  more  and  did  better.  In  his 
first  attempts  he  made  no  perceptible  headway 
but  he  managed  to  keep  his  head  above  water. 
Thus  he  gained  the  desirable  confidence. 

The  moonlight  that  beautified  the  ugly  stream 
gave  the  boys  sufficient  light  to  see  each  other. 
Shad  was  indolently  disporting  within  a  few 
strokes  of  Vick  when  one  of  the  gang  dived 
beneath  him  and  in  play  dragged  him  under. 
In  the  excitement  of  the  underwater  tussle  Vick 
was  momentarily  forgotten  and  when  Shad 
came  up,  after  disposing  of  his  adversary,  his 
pal  was  not  in  sight.  A  few  bubbles  rising  to 
the  surface  told  what  had  happened  to  Vick. 

With  one  quick  gulp  Shad  shot  down  head- 
foremost, and  slid  blindly  into  the  arms  of  the 
drowning  boy,  who  clung  to  him  in  frantic 
terror.  Shad  freed  himself  for  a  moment  but 
Vick  grappled  with  him  again  and  the  two 
boys  sank. 

Shad  kept  his  Head.  Struggling  until  one 
arm  was  free  he  shoved  his  fist  under  Vick's 


Lure  of  the  River  63 

chin  and  jabbed  him  with  all  his  strength. 
Again  and  again  he  struck,  and  at  last  broke 
the  choking  clasp.  In  frantic  haste  he  kicked 
back  to  the  surface. 

Vick  gave  up  all  hope  when  Shad  left  him. 
Yet  he  struggled  spasmodically,  futilely  churn- 
ing with  his  legs  as  if  he  rode  a  bicycle.  No 
incident  of  his  life  came  to  mock  him  or  to  con- 
sole him;  his  thoughts  were  of  Sarah.  What 
would  she  say  when  they  told  her?  A  feeling 
of  indescribable  pity  for  the  sister  swept  over 
him.  He  could  see  her  sobbing.  .  .  . 

Above,  Shad  filled  his  lungs  with  one  long 
breath.  He  shouted  the  gang  signal  for  help 
and  as  they  swarmed  toward  him,  he  dove  under 
once  more.  Suspecting  what  had  happened, 
several  of  the  boys  followed. 

It  was  Shad  who  found  Vick.  This  time  the 
lad  was  too  far  gone  to  struggle  and  his  pal 
brought  him  up  and  with  the  crowding  help  of 
others  swam  ashore  with  the  unconscious  boy, 
and  dragged  him  from  the  water. 

Vick  revived  quickly  and  found  himself 
under  the  wharf.  He  was  as  weak  as  a  baby 
but  the  realization  that  he  was  alive  filled  him 
with  a  satisfying  happiness.  It  was  good  to  be 
alive!  He  felt  that  he  could  lie  there  forever, 


64  Saturday  Nights 

inches  deep  in  the  mud,  and  never  complain  of 
anything. 

"How  come  you  to  go  under,  Vick?"  Shad 
asked. 

"I  missed  my  grab." 

The  boys  circled  closer,  their  alarm  giving 
place  to  a  curious  interest  in  the  boy  who  had 
almost  perished. 

"Thought  you  said  you'd  be  watchin'  me?" 
Vick  complained  after  a  time.  Reproach  lent 
strength  to  his  voice.  "Thought  you  said  you 
wouldn't  let  me  sink?" 

"  WeU,  I  pulled  you  out,  didn't  I?"  Shad's 
manner  was  vehement,  so  aggressive  was  his 
endeavor  to  hide  the  shame  of  his  negligence. 

"They  say  you  did,"  Vick  grudgingly  con- 
ceded. And  then  he  added,  in  boyish  bombast, 
to  impress  upon  all  who  listened  that  his  nerve 
was  yet  unbroken  —  "You  was  mighty  damn 
slow  'bout  it.  I  was  two  inches  lower'n  hell 

that  time!" 

***** 

One  summer  morning  found  Vick  working  in 
the  press  room  at  Dearborn's.  He  had  been 
sent  down  by  Lynn,  with  Shad  and  Dill,  and 
was  being  initiated  into  the  art  of  sticking  tags 
into  the  unfinished  plugs  of  chewing  tobacco, 


Lure  of  the  River  65 

and  piling  them  in  stacks,  ready  for  the  negroes 
at  the  shapers.  From  the  lump  room  the 
tobacco  came  down  layer  upon  layer  in  trucks, 
box-like  affairs  more  than  waist-high,  to  the 
taggers. 

Dill,  after  they  had  been  working  a  while,  dis- 
covered in  his  genius  for  mischief  a  new  way  to 
torment  Vick.  The  first  truck  was  more  than 
half  empty  and  the  lad  was  compelled  to  stand 
on  his  toes  and  lean  far  over  its  high  side  to 
secure  a  supply  of  lumps  for  his  table. 

While  thus  helpless  Dill  sneaked  behind  him 
and  placed  several  of  the  large  tags,  tin  prongs 
up,  under  Vick's  raised  heels.  His  arms  full, 
Vick  came  down  with  his  entire  weight  on  the 
miniature  spikes  and  with  a  whoop  of  aston- 
ished pain  he  threw  the  tobacco  into  the  air. 
His  action  was  ludicrous  and  the  boys  laughed 
uproariously.  Even  Shad  grinned. 

Vick  was  not  without  a  sense  of  humor.  If 
any  of  the  other  taggers  had  played  the  trick  he 
would  have  laughed  with  them.  But  Dill!  He 
plucked  the  tags  from  his  heels  and  in  his  resent- 
ment resolved  that  someone  would  pay  for  his 
discomfiture. 

The  chance  soon  came.  Only  the  last  layer 
of  tobacco  remained  in  the  truck  and  Dill  stood 


66  Saturday  Nights 

almost  upon  his  head  to  reach  it.  He  was  not 
to  be  caught  with  a  repetition  of  his  own  trick 
but  Vick  was  of  no  mind  to  bother  with  tags. 
He  darted  across  and,  seizing  Dill's  legs,  tossed 
him  over  into  the  truck.  Exultant,  he  stood  and 
awaited  the  outburst  of  mirth  that  was  due. 

But  a  sudden  silence,  then  the  hum  of  indus- 
try filled  the  room.  Vick,  glancing  toward  the 
enclosed  stairway  that  led  to  the  lump  room, 
understood  immediately.  At  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  stood  the  master  of  Dearborn's! 

The  lad  was  spellbound.  Dill  found  his  feet 
and  stood  erect  in  the  truck,  an  ugly  scowl  con- 
torting his  features.  His  mouth  was  twisted  for 
a  flow  of  invective  when  he,  too,  saw  the  big 
boss.  A  flash  of  triumph  swept  the  scowl  away, 
to  be  instantly  replaced  by  an  expression  of 
meek  injury. 

Old  Dearborn  strode  majestically  down  the 
room.  Vick  would  have  liked  to  flee  from  the 
factory  but  his  legs  refused  to  obey  the  call  of 
his  brain.  But,  to  the  boy's  surprise  and  delight, 
there  came  no  explosion  of  wrath.  The  old  gen- 
tleman passed  him  by,  his  gaze  straight  ahead, 
as  if  he  saw  nothing.  Yet  Vick  would  have 
sworn  there  was  a  glint  of  laughter  in  the 
austere  eyes. 


Lure  of  the  River  67 

With  the  familiar  sight  of  the  master's  proud 
back  work  ceased  and  the  jabber  of  a  score  of 
tongues  began.  The  big  boss  had  ignored  an 
opportunity  to  show  his  power ;  he  had,  for  some 
unexplainable  reason,  allowed  the  strict  disci- 
pline of  Dearborn's  to  relax.  Here  was  material 
for  gossip. 

Dill's  features  lengthened  laughably  in  his 
disappointment.  He  climbed  from  the  truck 
and  walked  a  few  steps,  limping  much  too 
obviously.  Vick,  fully  recovered  from  his  fright, 
felt  quite  proud  of  himself. 

"I'll  fix  you  — you  pet!"  Dill  threatened. 

"  Try  it  an'  see  what  you  get,"  Vick  retorted, 
and  returned  to  his  place  beside  Shad. 

"Didn't  old  Dearborn  see  me  do  it?"  he 
whispered. 

"Sure,  he  seen  it  all,"  Shad  answered,  not 
fully  recovered  from  his  surprise.  "I  seen  him 
when  he  seen  it.  I  thought  you  was  a  goner, 
Vick." 

The'  rush  job  of  tagging  finished,  the  lads 
from  the  third  floor  were  sent  that  afternoon  to 
the  cut-plug  department,  also  on  the  first  floor. 
There  it  was  Dill's  duty  to  keep  a  plentiful 
supply  of  tobacco  upon  the  bench,  from  which 
Shad  fed  it  into  the  jaws  of  the  machine.  To 


68  Saturday  Nights 

Vick  was  assigned  the  task  of  catching  the 
wafer-like  slices  and  packing  them  in  shallow 
trays. 

At  Dearborn's,  this  task  was  rather  danger- 
ous. A  steady  nerve  was  required  to  pull  the 
cuts  free  from  the  thumping  blade  and  prevent 
the  clogging  of  the  outlet.  Vick  felt  that  his 
fingers  were  in  constant  jeopardy — as  they 
were.  The  job  was  distinctly  not  to  his  liking, 
yet  he  made  no  complaint.  There  was  the  Sat- 
urday envelope  to  take  in  consideration. 

Vick  could  not  have  sworn  that  Dill  jogged 
his  elbow  when  he  passed,  but  he  was  passing 
as  Vick's  third  finger  slipped  under  the  ponder- 
ous knife.  So  swift  and  clean  was  the  amputa- 
tion that  Vick  did  not  feel,  he  saw  it.  He  lifted 
his  hand  in  trembling  horror  and  stared,  his  face 
suddenly  white,  at  the  red  stump  of  that  short- 
ened finger.  The  rounded  end  was  gone. 

A  negro  stopped  the  clattering  machine. 

"Mistuh  Updike!"  he  shouted.  "Run  for 
Mistuh  Updike!" 

Vick's  finger  began  to  ache,  throbbing  a  mes- 
sage of  pain  up  into  his  arm,  and  the  boy 
squeezed  it,  helplessly  trying  to  choke  the  flow 
of  blood. 

The   gathering   crowd   was   unceremoniously 


Lure  of  the  River  69 

shouldered  aside  and  "Dad"  Updike,  press 
room  boss  and  surgeon  extraordinary,  stood 
before  Vick. 

"Lemme  see,  boy,"  he  commanded,  and 
grasped  with  firm  fingers  the  sticky  little  hand. 
Dad  was  old,  and  lanky,  with  knobs  for  knees 
and  elbows  and  cheek-bones  that  were  much  too 
prominent  for  his  narrow  face,  but  the  quiet 
humor  of  his  clear  blue  eyes,  beneath  their  over- 
hanging bushy-white  brows,  did  much  to  com- 
pensate for  his  ugliness. 

He  turned  to  the  curious  ones.  "You  men 
get  back  to  your  work.  I'll  'tend  to  the  lad." 

Vick  walked  with  Updike  into  the  factory 
yard  where  the  boy  found  the  fresh  air  welcome. 
He  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  forehead.  Behind 
them  Dad  espied  a  furtive  Shad. 

"What  d'you  want?"  he  called. 

"  Nothin',"  Shad  muttered.    "  I'm  with  Vick." 

"  He's  my  pal,"  Vick  explained. 

"All  right.    We'll  let  him  stay." 

With  a  piece  of  twine  from  a  capacious  pocket 
the  foreman,  with  surprising  deftness,  wound 
the  finger  tightly  and  stopped  the  pulsing  flow. 

"You  stay  here,"  he  said  to  Shad,  "while  I 
get  some  stuff  outer  the  med'cine  box." 

Dad  came  back  quickly,  his  long  legs  stretch- 


70  Saturday  Nights 

ing.    "Does  it  hurt?"  he  cheerily  inquired. 

"  Some,"  Vick  admitted.  "  It's  got  me  kinder 
sick." 

"It's  the  blood  that  turns  your  stummick," 
Dad  explained. 

He  washed  and  treated  the  finger  and  skill- 
fully bandaged  it.  Then  he  sent  Shad,  proud 
to  be  of  service,  scurrying  for  an  old  glove. 
From  that  he  cut  a  finger  and  drew  it  over  the 
wounded  finger,  securing  it  with  twine  to  the 
boy's  slim  wrist.  Updike,  in  his  forty  years  at 
Dearborn's,  had  seen  more  than  his  share  of 
minor  injuries. 

The  reaction  soon  came.  Vick  squirmed  in 
discomfort,  tears  of  wretchedness  in  his  eyes. 

"  I'm  sick,"  he  whispered. 

"  Let  it  come,"  Dad  urged.  "  More  room  out 
than  in." 

Shad  hovered  near,  just  a  little  less  white 
than  his  chum.  The  illness  passed,  leaving  Vick 
spiritless. 

Into  the  yard  old  Dearborn  trotted,  trying  to 
hurry  and  still  retain  his  dignity.  He  was  the 
very  devil,  Vick  thought,  for  appearing  at  the 
wrong  time. 

"What?    What?"  the  old  gentleman  roared. 

"The  lad  caught  his  finger  in  the  cut-plug 


Lure  of  the  River  71 

machine,"  Updike  answered,  casually  helping 
himself  to  a  fresh  chew. 

"Boy — bo-oy!  Didn't  you  have  no  more 
sense  than  to  stick  your  finger  into  that 
machine?" 

Vick  thought  of  the  nearness  of  Dill  at  the 
moment  of  the  accident,  and  was  tempted  to 
accuse  him,  but  thought  better  of  it. 

"No,  sir — yes,  sir — no,  sir,"  he  stuttered, 
losing  the  sense  of  the  roaring  question. 

Old  Dearborn  glared  at  "  Dad  "  Updike.  "  Is 
he  hurt  seriously?" 

"A  end  off  his  finger,"  Dad  laconically 
answered. 

"  Send  him  home,  then,  send  him  home!  Why 
don't  you  send  him  home,  Updike?" 

"  I'm  goin'  to  when  he  feels  well  'nough." 

"Such  fool  carelessness!"  the  old  man 
stormed.  "It's  a  wonder  he  didn't  cut  his  head 
off!" 

"  The  boy'll  be  out  some  time,  Mr.  Dearborn," 
Dad  suggested,  carefully  selecting  his  words. 
When  his  press  room  foreman  mistered  him 
Dearborn  usually  took  notice. 

"See  that  he  gets  full  time  next  Saturday," 
he  ordered. 

"An'  the  next  Sattiday  after  that,  sir?    The 


72  Saturday  Nights 

lad  won't  be  able  to  work  for  some  time,  I'm 
afraid." 

"The  next  Saturday,  too!"  Dearborn 
snapped. 

He  stalked  to  the  factory  door,  then  suddenly 
turned  in  his  tracks.  "Boy,  you  stay  out  till 
that  finger  gets  entirely  well!"  he  roared. 

Dad  Updike  chuckled. 

Shad  accompanied  Vick  to  the  house  in 
Yarder  Street,  then  returned  to  his  work  at  the 
factory.  Vick  raced  excitedly  up  the  stairs  and 
burst  in  upon  Sarah  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Look,  Sis ! "  he  called,  holding  high  his  hand 
with  fingers  spread.  "  I  cut  off  my  finger ! " 

The  glove  finger  was  black  and  Sarah's 
startled  glance  glimpsed  only  three  of  the  boy's 
fingers  and  the  thumb.  Her  face  set  in  horror, 
she  screamed. 

Vick  hurried  over  to  her  and  with  rapid  words 
explained  the  real  extent  of  the  injury.  The 
two  were  laughing,  Sarah  in  weak  relief,  when 
Hesba  ran  into  the  room. 

"Mrs.  Timmons!  Vick!  What's  the  mat- 
ter?" she  breathlessly  inquired. 

The  lad,  embarrassed,  displayed  the  wounded 
hand. 

"It  liked  to  skeered  me  outer  my  senses," 


Lure  of  the  River  73 

Sarah  said.  "I  thought  his  whole  finger  was 
cut  off." 

"Oh,  Vick,  I'm  so  sorry,"  Hesba  exclaimed, 
her  pity  vanquishing  her  shyness.  "It  must 
hurt  you  awful!" 

"Aw,  not  so  much,"  Vick  replied,  squirming 
at  the  girl's  sympathy.  "It  ain't  much  worse'n 
a  stone-bruise." 

Hesba's  native  diffidence  returned.  "I'm 
glad  it  ain't  so  bad,"  she  said.  "Anything  you 
want  me  to  do,  Mrs.  Timmons?" 

"I  reggon  not,"  Sarah  answered.  "They 
fixed  it  up  at  the  factory." 

"I  hope  it'll  get  well  real  quick,"  the  girl 
said.  "I'm  going  down  to  Aunt,  now.  She'll 
want  to  know  about  it." 

"  She's  a  good  little  thing,"  Sarah  remarked, 
after  Hesba  had  left  them. 

"Uh-huh,"  Vick  disinterestedly  agreed. 

"Old  Dearborn  ain't  so  bad,"  the  lad  soberly 
commented  later.  "He  cussed  me  out  for  my 
carelessness  but  he  told  me  to  stay  'way  from 
the  fact'ry  till  my  finger  was  good  an'  well. 
An'  I'm  gettin'  paid  all  the  time." 

"You  are?"  The  news  drove  great  disquiet 
from  Sarah's  mind.  The  loss  of  Vi^k's  wages 
could  have  meant  nothing  less  than  disaster. 


74  Saturday  Nights 

"I  are,"  said  Vick. 

"But  your  poor  finger!" 

Vick  refused  to  regard  the  accident  as  a 
calamity. 

"Just  think,  Sis,"  he  pointed  out,  "this  gives 
me  a  holiday.  I  can  take  I  don't  know  how 
many  days.  An'  draw  full  pay  on  Sattidays." 

"  They  don't  gen'rally  do  that  in  the  fact 'ries," 
Sarah  commented. 

"  I  know  it.  Workin'  at  Dearborn's  ain't  so 
bad,"  Vick  answered,  then  gravely  added: 
"Bein'  as  you  got  to  work." 


Chapter  7 
VICE  WINS  PROMOTION 

Vick  enjoyed  to  the  limit  his  enforced  vaca- 
tion. Most  of  his  daylight  hours  were  spent 
in  idleness  or  finding  new  thrills  in  the  adven- 
tures of  Sir  Nigel.  But  the  shadows  of  night 
found  him  always  on  the  "corner,"  in  the  more 
modern,  if  less  heroic,  companionship  of  Shad 
and  the  gang. 

Two  days  after  the  accident,  Saturday,  he 
sauntered  down  to  Dearborn's  and  was  handed 
his  wages.  For  the  first  time  he  opened  his 
envelope,  to  allay  the  fear  that  he  had,  in  spite 
of  old  Dearborn's  instructions,  been  docked  for 
the  lost  time.  To  his  delight  he  found  himself 
in  possession  of  one  dollar  and  eighty  cents. 

Dad  Updike  must  have  been  watching  for 
Vick.  He  tapped  him  upon  his  shoulder. 

"How's  the  finger?" 

"'Most  well,  now." 

"What   d'you   know   'bout   it?"   Dad   asked 

76 


76  Saturday  Nights 

scornfully.  "I'm  the  doc,  ain't  I?  You'll  have 
to  stay  home  another  week,  anyhow." 

"I'd  like  to,"  Vick  admitted,  "but  I  could 
brush  leaves  by  holdin'  my  finger  stuck  out, 
Mr.  Updike.  Do  you  reckon  it's,  it's- 

"'Tain't  a  question  of  it's,  it's,  Vick,"  Dad 
said,  chuckling.  "It's  a  question  of  gettin'  a 
boy  a  holiday.  You  heard  what  the  old  man 
said  out  there  in  the  yard,  didn't  you?" 

"I  cert'ny  did." 

Dad  laughed  at  the  boy's  grimace. 

"He  said  for  you  to  stay  'way  till  the  finger 
was  entirely  well."  The  boss  tapped  vigorously 
the  sore  end  of  the  ringer  and  Vick  jumped. 
"  There!  You  can  see  it  ain't  entirely  well  yet." 

"I  reggon  'tain't  exactly  well,  sir." 

"That's  just  how  I  figgered  it,"  Dad  said 
gravely.  "Run  on  home,  now,  an'  don't  you 
lemme  catch  you  in  here  before  next  pay  day. 
You  hear  me,  boy?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Vick. 

The  next  Saturday  at  noon  Vick  found 
Updike  in  his  office,,  a  cubby-hole  stuck  away 
in  a  corner  near  the  factory  entrance.  The  boss 
beckoned  the  lad  to  the  light  of  a  window  and 
examined  the  finger  with  care. 

"A  little  sore  yet,"  he  commented.     "But  I 


Vick  Wins  Promotion  77 

reggon   you'll   be  able  to  toddle   in   Monday 


morninY 


"I  can  work  all  right,  now,  Mr.  Updike," 
Vick  said,  "just  so  I'm  careful  an'  don't  knock 
my  finger  when  I'm  brushin'." 

"  You  ain't  goin'  to  brush  no  more,  Vick." 

"I  ain't?" 

"Nope — you're  promoted.  You're  goin'  to 
work  under  me  hereafter." 

"I'd  like  mightily  to  work  for  you,  sir. 
What'll  be  my  job?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  learn  you  the  bus'ness,  maybe. 
If  I  see  you  got  a  head  for  it  I  don't  know  but 
what  I'll  make  you  my  assistant  some  of  these 
days.  I'll  need  one  —  I'm  gettin'  old." 

The  announcement  took  Vick's  breath  away. 
Through  the  open  door  he  stared  down  the 
floor,  deserted  now  by  the  workers,  past  rows 
of  shapers  to  the  black  line  of  iron  pots,  all 
bulging  of  waist,  with  signal  ropes  connecting 
with  the  gong  over  the  hydraulic  pump  at  the 
far  rear.  Scarcely  dry  of  scalding  water,  stacks 
of  greaseless  tins  stood  spick  and  span,  clean  for 
Sunday.  Nearer,  wooden  caddies,  empty  and 
unbranded,  were  pyramided  handy  to  the  open 
screws. 

"An'  there's  somethin'  else,"  Dad  went  on. 


78  Saturday  Nights 

"There's  more  money  in  the  new  job.     How 
does  two  an'  a  half  a  week  strike  you?" 

"  Right  where  I  live ! "  said  Vick  emphatically. 

****** 

Vick's  eighteenth  birthday  was  a  month  or  two 
behind  him  when  one  morning  in  early  spring 
Eva  Warm,  starting  to  work  at  Dearborn's, 
walked  past  him  at  the  factory  door.  It  was 
a  case  of  surrender  at  sight  with  Vick.  Soon 
the  time  came  when  he  was  not  really  happy 
unless  he  was  where  he  could  watch  the  girl  and 
catch  a  smile. 

For  some  time  Vick  had  been  Dad  Updike's 
assistant  in  the  press  room.  His  pay  had  been 
raised  several  times  and  the  lad  felt  that  he  was 
getting  ahead.  In  Dad's  hands  he  was  beginning 
to  understand  the  intricacies  of  tobacco  in  the 
manufacturing.  His  years  at  the  factory  had 
given  him  a  living,  besides  winning  for  him  a 
valued  friend  and  wise  counselor.  Updike 
treated  the  lad  with  the  consideration  a  father 
might  have  shown  a  son  and  Vick  had  become 
very  fond  of  the  old  man. 

Vick  had  grown  into  a  tall,  slender  young 
fellow,  possessing  his  share  of  masculine  attract- 
iveness. Unlike  the  majority  of  his  stolid- 
featured  acquaintances  his  face  was  alive  with 


Vick  Wins  Promotion  79 

intelligence.  His  hair,  as  straight  as  his  back, 
had  darkened  considerably  and  was  brushed 
sternly  back  from  a  rather  high  forehead.  His 
eyes  were  a  sober  gray,  with  a  likable  trick  of 
twinkling  with  mirth  and  an  abundance  of  fire 
in  their  depth.  His  nose  was  large,  sensitive 
and  fuU-rimmed  at  the  nostrils. 

The  home  in  Yarder  Street  was  all  that  the 
Joyces  might  expect.  Through  the  sustained 
efforts  of  brother  and  sister  the  necessities  of 
a  comfortable  existence  were  acquirable.  For  a 
long  time,  now,  Sarah  had  worked  at  Winter's, 
the  mammoth  cigarette  factory  of  Burleyton. 

Hesba  Wyatt,  too,  worked  at  Winter's. 
Hesba  was  not  a  showy  girl  in  looks  or  manner 
— not  calculated  to  enslave  at  first  sight.  Vick 
saw  much  of  her  and  treated  her  with  the 
privileged  unconcern  of  a  thoughtless  brother. 

Not  a  word  had  Sarah  received  from  Jasper 
Timmons.  Vick  had  brought  from  the  factory 
a  rumor  that  Timmons  had  been  killed  in  the 
war.  Sarah  was  not  flinty  of  heart  but  she 
knew  she  would  not  weep  if  the  report  were 
verified.  The  genial  Lynn,  now  the  master  of 
stemmers  at  Dearborn's,  had  begun  to  call,  at 
first  infrequently,  then  regularly,  and  the  girl 
did  not  shun  the  proffered  friendship. 


80  Saturday  Nights 

Lynn  made  much  of  Sarah's  baby  girl,  an 
attractive,  pink  cheeked  little  one  with  chubby 
legs  and  yellow  hair.  The  wisdom  of  Lynn's 
methods  was  apparent;  there  was  no  straighter 
path  to  Sarah's  heart.  The  child  was  really 
lovable,  looking  upon  Mrs.  Cooper  as  a  second 
mother,  and  the  old  woman  was  amazingly 
content  in  the  arrangement  whereby  her  hours 
were  filled  with  the  care  of  little  Katie  during 
the  necessary  absences  of  Sarah. 

Vick  and  Shad  were  as  inseparable  as  ever. 
Shad  was  stockier  than  his  pal  and  heavier. 
His  hair  was  as  sandy  of  color,  and  as  unruly, 
as  on  the  dav  when  Vick  first  saw  him.  He  had 

tf 

become  Lynn's  assistant  at  Dearborn's. 

Led  by  several  of  the  more  unrestrained  lads 
the  lumber  yard  gang  had  degenerated  into 
criminal  viciousness.  Two  of  the  boys  had  been 
caught  in  one  of  their  raids,  and  sentences  to  the 
reform  school  had  been  the  result. 

The  corner  had  been  "  reported  " —  was  under 
the  surveillance  of  the  police  —  and  the  gang 
had  received  orders  not  to  congregate  there.  In 
spite  of  the  warnings  they  stubbornly  insisted 
upon  gathering  at  their  old  meeting  place. 
They  held  the  police  in  profane  scorn,  yet  were 
ever  alert  for  the  sign  of  a  blue-coat.  When 


Vick  Wins  Promotion  81 

one  came  within  their  view  they  scampered  into 
the  night  and  from  the  safety  of  the  shadows 
yelled  their  taunts.  And  it  was  a  matter  of 
gang-pride  to  reassemble  at  the  corner  the 
moment  the  patrolman  had  passed. 

From  sheer  force  of  habit  Vick  and  Shad 
generally  met  upon  the  corner,  but  the  chums, 
steadied  a  bit  on  the  border  of  manhood,  had 
for  some  time  avoided  participation  in  the  night 
raids  which  had  developed  from  mischievous 
adventure  into  organized  thievery. 

Within  the  flickering  radius  of  the  gaslight 
the  gang  was  gathered,  a  score  of  youths,  seldom 
still  and  never  silent,  weaving  to  and  fro  among 
themselves  like  hiving  bees.  Most  of  them  were 
ragged  but  unconcerned.  The  vicinity  echoed 
with  their  shouts  and  laughter,  freely  inter- 
spersed with  the  oaths  of  their  elders.  Vick  and 
Shad  were  seated  on  the  tufty  grass  that  grew 
alongside  the  lumber  yard,  their  backs  to  the 
fence. 

From  the  mouth  of  a  neighboring  alley  a 
policeman  lumbered;  from  across  and  up  and 
down  the  street  others  ran,  all  converging  upon 
the  corner.  The  gang  was  surrounded.  At  the 
first  whoop  of  warning  the  chums  swung  with 
the  agility  of  acrobats  to  the  top  of  the  fence 


82  Saturday  Nights 

and  dropped  over.  The  paths  of  the  yard,  with 
its  innumerable  stacks  of  lumber,  wound  this 
way  and  that  in  intricate  fashion,  to  and  from 
the  wagon  road,  but  the  place  was  as  familiar 
as  their  homes  to  the  fleeing  boys. 

Recklessly  they  plunged  through  the  dark- 
ness to  the  farther  side,  where  a  loose-hanging 
plank  had  been  used  as  an  egress  in  similar 
crises.  With  muttered  words  of  rebef  they 
passed  through  to  another  street — and  into  the 
hands  of  a  waiting  officer. 

"Aw,  now,"  he  said,  tightening  his  hold 
upon  their  arms,  "who  have  we  here?" 

Vick  recognized  the  drawling  voice  of  Dugg, 
the  patrolman  on  that  beat.  He  and  Shad  made 
BO  reply  and  the  officer  turned  them  so  he  might 
scan  their  faces. 

"Joyce  an'  Fish,  hey?"  he  chuckled.  "Where 
was  you  goin',  now?" 

'You  know,"  Vick  answered  sullenly,  seeing 
Kttle  reason  for  the  pleasantry. 

Shad  stood  glum  and  silent. 

Dugg  searched  carefully  the  length  of  the 
street,  to  be  certain  no  brother  officer*  was  in 
sight. 

"I'm  goin'  to  let  you  go,"  he  remarked. 
"You  ain't  the  ones,  I'm  thinkin',  the  Cap  is 


Vick  Wins  Promotion  83 

after.    If  I  turn  you  loose  where're  you  goin'  ? " 

"  Away  from  here ! "  Vick  flashed. 

Dugg  released  them.  "  Run  'long,  then.  But 
if  I  catch  you  'round  these  here  diggin's  again 
I'm  goin'  to  lock  you  up." 

"We  ain't  comin'  back,"  Vick  promised  as 
they  started  off. 

"Not  to-night,  Anyhow,"  Shad  added 
impudently. 

A  block  and  a  half  they  hurried  and  came 
out  on  Main  Street.  There  they  halted  in 
indecision. 

"Where  we  goin',  Vick?" 

"Aw,  hell,"  Vick  said  bitterly,  "we  ain't 
got  nowheres  to  go.  We  have  to  work  all  day 
an'  the  cops  chase  us  at  night.  We'd  just  as 
well  be  in  jail  or  somethin'." 

"I  know  where  we  can  go,"  Shad  retorted. 

"Where?" 

"Cross  there" — pointing. 

"Cross  there"  was  a  barroom,  its  door  and 
windows  casting  into  the  night  a  soft  glow  of 
invitation. 

"Aw,  I  ain't  never  drank  nothin',"  Vick 
objected. 

"  'Tain't  goin'  to  hurt  you.  You  got  to  start 
sometime,  ain't  you?" 


84  Saturday  Nights 

"I  reggon  so,"  Vick  agreed  doubtfully. 

"Come  on,  then.  I  been  in  there  before  an' 
I  got  ?nough  for  two-three  drinks.  What's 
mine's  yours,  you  know  that." 

Shad  swaggered  through  the  swinging  doors 
and  Vick  followed,  much  less  confidently.  At 
the  bar  Shad  ordered  two  glasses  of  beer  and 
ostentatiously  flipped  a  coin  upon  the  counter. 
Vick  forced  the  drink  down.  Without  con- 
sultation Shad  then  called  for  whisky  for  two. 
Vick  demurred. 

"  Shad,"  he  whispered,  "  that  stufFll  make 
me  drunk." 

"What  d'you  care?"  Shad  demanded.  "Just's 
well  be  drunk  as  the  way  you  are." 

With  amazed  envy  Vick  watched  his  pal  as 
he  swallowed  the  liquor  without  the  blinking 
of  an  eye.  His  own  portion  brought  tears 
to  Vick's  eyes,  almost  strangling  him,  and  he 
grabbed  for  the  chaser  of  water  as  if  it  were  an 
antidote  for  poison.  A  little  later,  his  head 
astonishingly  light,  his  cares  less  than  nothing, 
he  strutted  out  at  the  heels  of  Shad. 

When  the  lads  parted  Vick  walked  up  Yarder 
Street  on  legs  which  wabbled  fearfully.  With 
as  little  noise  as  possible  he  stole  up  to  the 
kitchen,  trying  not  to  arouse  Sarah.  The  room 


Vick  Wins  Promotion  85 

was  in  darkness.  Somehow,  swaying  on  the 
threshold,  he  lost  his  balance  and  lurched  in, 
pitching  headlong  with  a  startling  crash. 

He  landed  under  the  kitchen  table  and, 
stupidly  unaware  of  his  position,  tried  to  regain 
his  feet.  And  as  often  as  he  came  up  his  head 
jammed  against  the  table,  knocking  him  back 
again.  The  voice  of  his  sister,  vibrant  with 
alarm,  beat  past  the  roar  in  his  eardrums. 

"  Vick !    What's  the  matter  ? " 

Vick  was  determined  to  stand  erect  and  he 
stubbornly  fought  the  table.  Sarah  hurried  into 
the  room,  the  lamp  in  her  hand  throwing  a 
yellow  gleam  on  her  face,  strained  with  fright. 

"Vick!"  she  appealed  again. 

She  saw  him,  then.  She  set  the  lamp  on  the 
floor  and  helped  the  boy  to  his  feet. 

"Vick,  you're  drunk!"  Sarah  whispered,  her 
voice  heavy  with  horror. 

She  got  him  upon  a  chair  and  bathed  his  fore- 
head, and  Vick  steadfastly  refused  to  meet  her 
sorrowing  eyes. 

Mrs.  Cooper  hobbled  into  the  room.  "  I  heard 
you  call,"  she  said  simply,  instantly  compre- 
hending the  situation. 

"Can't  I  help  —  can't  I  come  in?"  Hesba's 
voice,  anxious,  sounded  from  the  hall  outside. 


86  Saturday  Nights 

"Don't,  don't  let  her,"  Vick  whispered. 

Mrs.  Cooper  hobbled  to  the  door.  "Ain't  no 
use  for  you  to  stay  up,  Hesba.  Vick's  sick,  but 
not  bad,  I'm  thinkin'.  Get  back  to  bed,  now, 
an'  I'll  be  down  in  a  while." 

Hesba  was  not  to  be  denied.  Disregarding 
her  aunt,  she  stepped  resolutely  into  the  room 
and  across  to  the  lad. 

"Vick's  sick,"  Sarah  said. 

The  lad  felt  the  young  girl's  searching  look 
and  made  himself  meet  her  gaze.  In  her  steady 
eyes  he  read  her  scorn  and  contempt  and  it 
stirred  him  to  stupid  anger.  She  had  no  right 
to  scorn  him;  she  had  had  no  right  to  enter. 
He  choked  back  a  guttural  oath  of  defiance. 

"Yes — Vick's  sick,"  said  Hesba,  disdain- 
fully. "And  the  sickness  is  of  his  own  making. 
You  were  right,  Aunt,  I  can't  help." 

Coolly  she  walked  from  the  kitchen  but  in 
the  darkness  outside  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  stifled  a  sob. 

"But  I  could  help— if  he'd  let  me,"  she 
whispered. 


On  those  spring  nights  the  lads  on  the  lumber 
yard  corner  saw  little  of  Vick  and  Shad.  The 
two  no  longer  found  amusement  in  the  youthful 
escapades  of  the  gang  and  drifted  from  its 
influence,  as  did  others  of  the  older  lads.  The 
chums  became  regular  patrons  of  Gallopin' 
Dick's  saloon. 

Dick  Jessup  was  widely  known  among  the 
drinking  population  of  Tobacco  Flats  as  a  man 
who  could,  and  would,  whip  twice  his  weight 
in  drunken  rowdies.  He  tried  to  run  an  orderly 
place  and  belligerently  advertised  the  fact  that 
he  was  ruler  there.  If  some  quarrelsome  patron 
started  a  fight  the  barkeeper  invariably  finished 
it,  and  the  offender  usually  found  himself 
sprawling  in  the  gutter  of  Yarder  Street, 
wondering  how  he  got  there. 

Gallopin'  was  sardonic  of  countenance,  harsh 
of  speech,  wiry  of  body,  and  a  human  cyclone 
in  a  free-for-all  mix-up.  With  a  right  leg  all 

87 


88  Saturday  Nights 

of  three  inches  shorter  than  the  left,  his  hobbling 
stride  gave  him  the  unusual  nickname  to  which 
he  answered. 

His  saloon  occupied  the  ground  floor  of  a 
dingy,  yellow-brick  building  on  a  corner  where 
Yarder  Street  crossed  Main.  It  stood  several 
blocks  down  from  Dearborn's,  and  to  the  minds 
of  Vick  and  Shad  it  was  a  convivial  rendezvous. 

One  Saturday  afternoon  the  chums  hurried 
home  as  usual,  ate  dinner,  washed  and  dressed, 
then  foregathered  at  Gallopin's.  They  took 
possession  of  a  table  in  the  rear  room  and  for 
an  hour  or  more  played  pinochle  for  drinks. 
Shad,  who  faced  the  door  to  the  bar,  looked  up 
from  the  cards  as  the  slatted  front  doors  swung 
wide  at  the  entrance  of  two  men. 

"Look  who's  here,"  he  drawled. 

Vick  turned.  Dill  was  advancing  to  the  bar 
with  a  rough-looking,  heavily  bearded  man,  who 
might  have  been  an  elder  brother.  Dill  had  lost 
his  job  at  Dearborn's  months  before  and  Vick 
noted,  with  no  particular  interest,  however,  that 
he  now  wore  the  blue  uniform  of  a  street  car 
man.  Dill  did  not  notice  the  chums  and  Vick 
gave  his  attention  to  the  game. 

Shad,  to  Vick's  disgust,  was  nonchalantly 
melding  a  hundred  aces  when  their  attention 


Gallopin'  Dick  Jessup  89 

was  attracted  by  a  violent  altercation.  Dill  and 
his  companion  were  indulging  in  a  quarrel. 

"Watch  Gallopin',"  Shad  whispered,  his  eyes 
shining. 

Vick  left  the  table  and  sauntered  to  the  door, 
the  better  to  see  what  followed.  There  was  a 
line  of  men  drinking  at  the  bar  and  the  profane 
disputants  gravitated  to  the  center  of  the  room, 
where  they  threatened  blows. 

Their  words  were  vicious  and  personal.  Gal- 
lopin', his  face  scowlingly  black,  hobbled  free  of 
the  counter  and  literally  galloped  upon  the  men. 
With  no  word  his  fist  swung  against  the 
unshaven  jaw  of  the  older  of  the  brawling  pair 
and  the  man  fell.  Gallopin'  leaned  over  and 
hooked  his  fingers  into  the  prostrate  man's 
collar,  intending  to  throw  him  out  of  the  place. 

He  made  the  mistake  of  trusting  his  back  to 
Dill,  who  held  in  a  hand  a  partly-empty  beer 
bottle.  The  younger  ruffian  lifted  the  weapon 
high.  Those  at  the  bar,  and  Gallopin's  assistant 
behind  it,  stood  motionless,  but  Vick,  his  hot  blood 
surging,  leaped  across  the  room  and  swung  with 
all  his  fury  upon  the  neck  of  his  old  enemy.  Dill 
swayed  and  dropped  upon  Gallopin',  who  jerked 
erect. 

The  bottle  clattered  to  the  floor  and  the  man 


90  Saturday  Nights 

comprehended  at  once  that  which  had  transpired. 
Something  of  a  flash  of  gratitude  lightened  his 
face,  though  he  said  nothing. 

He  dragged  the  heavier  man  through  the 
door  to  the  side  street  and  immediately  hobbled 
back  for  the  unconscious  Dill,  whom  he  disposed 
of  in  the  same  unceremonious  manner.  This 
done,  he  came  over  to  Vick,  a  grim  semblance  of 
a  smile  on  his  lips  as  he  wiped  his  hands  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  finished  a  dirty  task. 

"Have  a  drink?"  he  said  to  the  lad. 

Shad  joined  Vick  at  the  bar  and  Gallopin*  set 
out  two  glasses  and  a  bottle. 

In  the  vocabulary  of  the  man  there  apparently 
was  no  word  of  thanks,  yet  Vick  could  not  help 
but  notice  that  Gallopin'  eyed  him  closely,  as  if 
his  attention  had  just  been  called  to  him.  Back 
at  their  table  Vick  spoke,  idly  riffling  the  cards. 

"  Shad,  I  wouldn't  take  a  hundred  for  the 
pleasure  of  gettin*  in  that  lick." 

'You  sure  soaked  the  rummy,  Vick." 

"For  my  own  self-respect  I'd  rather  have  hit 
him  when  he  could  see  me  hittin',  but  this  wasn't 
no  time  to  be  choosey.  The  scum  would  have 
murdered  Gallopin*." 

"  That  bottle  would  have  brained  m'm,"  Shad 
agreed. 


Gallopin'  Dick  Jessup  91 

"Oh,  well,  it's  Sattiday,"  Vick  pointed  out. 
"Most  anything  can  happen  now." 

"  Sattiday  is  the  big  time,  all  right." 

In  his  earnestness  Vick  leaned  forward,  the 
cards  forgotten. 

"  Shad,  lemme  tell  you  somethin'.  Sattiday's 
the  only  time  for  us.  We  don't  have  no  good 
times  any  other  days,  do  we?  Just  Sattidays  an* 
Sattiday  nights.  That's  all.  I  ain't  never  had 
anything  worth  while  happen  to  me  'cept  on 
Sattidays.  Any  other  time  I  might  just's  well 
be  dead.  Sattiday  is  payday — he  only  time  I 
ever  have  any  money.  For  workin'  folks  all  the 
other  days  an'  nights  don't  mean  nothin'  a-tall." 

"  That's  right,"  Shad  agreed. 

'"Course  it's  right.  I'd  be  'most  willin'  to 
spend  all  my  other  time  in  jail  or  somethin'  if 
they'd  just  give  me  a  little  money  an'  let  me 
out  on  Sattidays." 

"Me,  too." 

"What's  Dearborn's  but  a  jail?"  Vick  aggres- 
sively demanded. 

"  Same  thing." 

"  Working  folks  don't  own  but  one  day  in  the 
week.  That's  Sattiday.  Half  a  day  holiday, 
draw  your  money,  an'  spend  what  little  you  got 
left  after  you  pay  what  you  owe.  Lay  'round 


92  Saturday  Nights 

Sundays,  start  in  again  on  Monday's  an'  the 
same  thing  over  again.  Far's  me  —  Vickery 
Joyce  —  is  concerned  person'ly,  there  ain't  but 
one  day  an'  night  in  the  week.  That's  Sattiday." 

"You  got  it  right,  Vick,"  Shad  stolidly 
agreed. 

It  was  late  that  night,  and  Vick  was  unsteady 
with  the  weight  of  the  liquor  he  carried,  when 
Gallopin'  found  himself  with  an  idle  minute. 
He  beckoned  the  lad  and  Vick  went  to  him. 

"Looky  here,  boy,"  said  Gallopin',  frowning 
darkly,  "why  don't  you  cut  this  here  stuff  out?" 

"What  do  I  want  to  cut  it  out  for?"  Vick 
demanded,  a  bit  nettled.  "Why  don't  you  ask 
'em  other  fellows  that?" 

"Aw,  them ! "  Gallopin's  contempt  was  obvious. 
"They'd  never  do  it.  They  ain't  no  good  for 
nothin'  else." 

'You're  a  swell  saloon  man,"  Vick  sarcasti- 
cally commented.  "Knockin'  your  customers." 

"  You're  too  lippy,"  Gallopin'  growled.  "  Leave 
'em  others  outer  it.  I'm  talkin'  to  you.  Not 
'em.  You're  young  yet.  Take  the  advice  of  a 
man  what  knows  an'  lay  off  the  booze.  Make 
somethin*  outer  yourself.  You're  made  outer 
better  stuff  than  'em  rough-necks." 

Vick   laughed,   and   Gallopin's  mouth   hard- 


Gallopin'  Dick  Jessup  93 

ened.     The  man  was  not  usually  laughed  at. 
''Better,  hell!"  Vick  swore.     "All  of  us  are 

fact'ry  hands,  Gallopin';  we  ain't  fit  for  nothin' 

else." 

"  You're  too  wise  for  your  years." 

"Aw,  come  on,"  Vick  chuckled,  "come  on  an* 

set  out  the  bottle.     You're  still  sellin'  it,  ain't 

you?" 

The  man  reddened  and  slammed  a  bottle  to 
the  counter. 

;'Yes,  I'm  still  sellin'  it  —  if  you  got  to  have 
it,"  he  said,  with  lowering  brows.  "It's  my 
livin'."  He  pulled  Vick  very  close  and  nodded 
vigorously,  giving  emphasis  to  his  words.  "But 
take  notice,  my  gay  young  lad,  I  ain't  drinkin' 

it!" 

###### 

The  time  came  that  spring  when  Vick  and 
Shad  were  perilously  near  to  a  rupture  of  their 
brotherhood.  Shad  was  jealous;  he  could  not, 
for  the  life  of  him,  comprehend  why  Vick  seemed 
to  prefer  the  companionship  of  Eva  Wann. 

Vick  owned  a  healthy  affection  for  his  bull- 
headed  chum  but  he  could  not  resist  the  appeal 
of  the  girl.  Deep  in  his  heart  he  must  have 
admitted  that,  assured  of  the  love  of  the  be- 
witching Eva,  he  would  not,  he  could  not,  have 


94  Saturday  Nights 

hesitated  to  give  up  Shad.  Such  a  choice  he 
endeavored  to  evade,  explaining  carefully  for 
the  benefit  of  his  chum  the  wide  difference  in 
his  regard  for  him  and  for  the  girl. 

Shad  was  never  wholly  convinced.  He  shook 
his  stubborn  head  and  swore  with  solemn 
emphasis  that  he  would  not  give  the  friendship 
of  Vick  for  any  girl  that  graced  the  streets  of 
Burleyton.  Vick  pitied  his  ignorance  of  love. 

At  the  finish  of  a  violent  wrangle  a  com- 
promise was  effected,  whereby  the  chums  would 
continue,  in  any  event,  to  have  their  Saturdays 
for  themselves.  This  Vick  promised  and  was 
quite  safe,  despite  the  enticement  of  Eva.  In 
Tobacco  Flats  it  was  bad  form  to  call  upon  a 
girl  on  Saturday.  Thus  amity  between  the  pals 
was  preserved. 

In  Eva's  first  days  at  Dearborn's  Vick  sought, 
and  managed  to  find,  numerous  minor  tasks  in 
the  smoking  room  where  she  was  employed. 
Once  Dad  Updike  needed  the  lad  in  the  press 
room  and,  at  his  belated  appearance,  reproached 
him  a  bit  brusquely  for  wasting  his  time  around 
the  girl.  Stung  to  anger  by  the  deserved 
rebuke  Vick  found  refuge  in  his  fiery  temper 
and  astonished  the  old  man,  and  himself  as 
well,  by  swearing  at  him. 


Gallopin'  Dick  Jessup  95 

Viek's  obvious  infatuation  soon  became  fac- 
tory gossip.  Moreover,  his  dog-like  devotion  flat- 
tered Eva's  native  vanity  and  she  boldly  put  his 
love  on  display,  to  excite,  perhaps,  the  envy  of 
the  other  girls.  Vick  was  a  desirable  youth. 
He  could  have  turned  his  eyes  elsewhere,  and 
fared  better.  Eva  was  not  popular  among  the 
other  girls,  but  Vick,  in  his  infatuation,  saw 
nothing  but  her  pretty  face. 

The  girl  was  all  that  Hesba  Wyatt  was  not. 
A  flashy  blonde,  ear-ringed  and  rouged,  born 
an  insatiate  flirt,  her  mind  was  as  coarse  as  her 
features  were  flawless,  yet  with  all  her  surface 
beauty  she  was  too  shallow-minded  to  value 
Viek's  love.  He  satisfied  her  desire  for  mascu- 
line admiration,  her  unbounded  ambition  for 
conquest.  With  no  especial  effort  she  enslaved 
him  and  in  lais  infatuation  he  endowed  her  with 
all  the  noble  qualities  of  Sir  Nigel's  lady. 

Eva  Wann's  home  was  over  a  cluttered 
grocery  on  Main  Street,  near  the  brink  of  the 
stagnant  creek  that  marked  the  border  between 
Tobacco  Plats  and  Little  HelL  Vick  was  a 
much  more  experienced  youth  before  he  forgot 
the  day  OH  which  she  first  gave  him  permission 
to  call. 

That  evening,  arrayed  in  his  own  best  clothes 


96  Saturday  Nights 

and  Shad's  new  hat,  he  climbed  the  stairway 
beside  the  store,  his  heart  beating  rapidly  with 
excitement  and  anticipation.  Following  explicit 
directions  he  tapped  on  the  first  left-hand  door 
upon  the  narrow  landing. 

Eva,  sitting  inside,  did  not  answer  immedi- 
ately. To  avoid  any  semblance  of  undue  haste 
she  made  him  wait  before  she  condescended  to 
give  him  entrance  —  all  this  for  effect.  A 
rickety  three-legged  table  stood  in  the  precise 
center  of  the  room,  threatening  to  collapse  at 
any  moment  under  the  weight  of  a  lamp  almost 
hidden  by  a  tent-like  shade  of  pink  tissue  paper. 
Several  chairs,  a  none-too-new  rug,  a  dingy 
couch  in  the  farther  corner,  and  four  or  five 
gaudy  calendars  on  the  walls  were  reasons  good 
and  sufficient  for  the  place  to  be  designated  as 
•the  parlor. 

The  lad  stood  blinking,  ill  at  ease,  embar- 
rassed by  the  fact  that  he  was  alone  in  the  room 
with  her. 

"Gimme  your  hat,  Vick,"  she  said,  and 
coquettishly  possessed  herself  of  it.  "What 
you  gappin'  at?" 

"  The  light,  it  hurt  my  eyes  when  I  first  came 
in,"  Vick  stammered  in  his  embarrassment. 

Eva  dimpled  at  the  evasion.     The  light  was 


Gallopin'  Dick  Jessup  97 

pinkishly  soft  and  very  dim.  She  had  seen  to 
that.  Though  they  both  were  of  the  same  years, 
standing  on  the  threshold  of  manhood  and 
womanhood,  the  girl  was  infinitely  the  wiser  in 
the  ways  of  the  world.  She  was  shrewdly  aware 
that  her  beauty  bewildered  the  boy. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  smiling  again,  "comin' 
in  so  sudden  from  the  dark  hall.  The  butler  must 
have  forgot  to  turn  on  the  'lectricity.  I'll  have 
to  fire  him,  I'm  'fraid.  He's  gettin*  so  awful 
uncareful." 

Vick  grinned.  Eva  led  the  way  to  the  shad- 
owed couch  and,  artfully  brushing  aside  her 
flouncing  white  skirt,  made  space  for  him,  very, 
very  close.  Then  with  her  buoyant  familiarity 
she  endeavored  to  put  him  at  ease,  yet  Vick's 
speech  was  vague  and  rambling  until  they  began 
to  talk  of  herself — and  finally  of  love.  Then 
it  was  that  the  lad  forgot  his  self-consciousness 
and  waxed  eloquent.  Eva  proved  a  delightful 
listener.  When  Vick  left  her  that  night  the  girl 
owned  him  body  and  soul.  And  she  knew  it. 


Chapter  9 
AT  THE  CROSS-ROADS 

With  the  hot  nights  of  mid-summer  Vick 
divided  his  hours  of  leisure  almost  equally  be- 
tween Eva  and  Shad.  At  least  three  evenings 
a  week,  sometimes  four,  saw  the  lad  at  the  home 
of  the  girl.  Within  the  confines  of  the  tawdry 
parlor  over  the  grocery  he  was  at  ease,  knowing 
the  same  at-home  feeling  that  was  his  in  the 
house  in  Yarder  Street.  Eva  found  keen  delight 
in  his  ready  submissiveness  to  her  variable 
moods.  There  was  blind  faith  in  Vick's  love. 

"I  know  I  ain't  good  'nough  for  you,"  he 
told  her  in  a  humble  moment  of  adoration. 
"Nobody  is.  You're  pretty — beautiful.  But 
I'm  goin'  to  try  an'  make  my  love  for  you  so 
big  that  it'll  make  up  for  the  diffrunce." 

Eva  carelessly  accepted  the  tribute  to  her 
loveliness  as  her  due.  Vick  —  with  others,  per- 
haps—  was  fast  teaching  her  that  she  was  one 
to  be  adored.  The  lad's  evenings  with  her  were 

98 


At  the  Cross-Roads  99 

by  far  the  sweetest  hours  of  his  life,  and  this, 
too,  he  told  her  in  sober  seriousness. 

"Eva,  if  it  wasn't  for  the  time  I  have  with 
you  I'd  have  mighty  little  pleasure,"  he  said 
one  evening.  "If  I  couldn't  come  to  see  you 
I  don't  b'lieve  I'd  care  a  cent  'bout  nothin'." 

Vick  meant  every  word.  And  Eva's  laughter, 
even  with  its  tinge  of  arrogance,  was  music  to 
his  ears. 

His  evenings  away  from  her,  Saturdays  in- 
cluded, he  shared  with  the  disgruntled  yet  loyal 
Shad.  Most  of  their  time  was  wasted  in 
Gallopin*  Dick's,  under  the  cooling  whir  of  the 
ceiling  fans. 

On  several  occasions  since  the  night  when 
Vick  saved  him  from  Dill,  Gallopin',  clumsily 
trying  to  hide  his  earnestness  under  a  heavy 
sarcasm,  had  urged  the  lad  to  give  up  drinking. 
With  jeer  and  taunt  the  man  endeavored  to 
shame  him,  but  Vick  continued  in  joyful  uncon- 
cern down  his  chosen  path.  With  Shad,  he  now 
adopted  the  age-old  custom  of  the  males  of 
Tobacco  Flats  of  carrying  home  a  Saturday 
night  drunk. 

Shad  sat  with  his  towsled  head  across  an  arm 
upon  one  of  the  card  tables,  oblivious  to  the 
world.  Vick,  not  quite  so  far  gone,  was  beside 


Saturday  Nights 

him.  In  a  lull  at  the  bar  Gallopin'  hobbled 
down  the  floor  to  the  table,  dragging  a  chair  for 
himself. 

'You  get  drunk  eve'y  Sattiday,  now,  don't 
you?"  the  man  sneeringly  commented. 

"What's  it  to  you?"  Vick  demanded. 

"Nothin' — nothin'  a-tall,"  Gallopin'  answered 
smoothly,  though  his  thin  lips  retained  their  curl. 
"I  was  just  noticin'." 

'You're  noticin'  me  too  much,  Galiopin' — 
you're  takin'  too  much  on  yourself,"  Vick 
angrily  exclaimed.  "  I  ain't  askin'  for  no  nurse 
an'  if  I  did,  it  wouldn't  be  you.  Jump  on  some 
of  'em  others  that's  lickin'  up  your  rot-gut 
likker!" 

"Them  swine!"  Gallopin'  spat  his  utter  con- 
tempt. "They  ain't  no  good  'cept  to  get 
likkered  up  eve'y  Sattiday  night!" 

"That's  all  we  got  comin'  to  us,  I  reggon  — 
once  a  week  a  Sattiday  night  drunk,"  Vick 
said  sullenly.  "That's  all  our  fun." 

"Fun!  Why,  the  most  of  'em  had  better 
be  at  home  with  their  pay  envelopes  for  their 
wives  an'  kids,  they  had." 

A  frown  scarred  Vick's  forehead.  "Look 
here,  Gallopin',  what  you  always  after  me  for? 
An'  why 're  you  always  cussin'  'em  fellows,  your 


At  the  Cross-Roads  101 

customers,  out  like  you  do?  You  sell  the  stuff, 
don't  you?" 

The  sneer  slowly  faded  from  Gallopin's 
saturnine  face. 

"They're  questions  that's  got  answers  comin* 
to  'em,  Vick,"  he  said  deliberately.  "But  if 
anybody  else  had  asked  'em,  he'd  most  likely 
have  got  a  smash  to  the  jaw.  Anyhow,  here's 
the  answer — for  you,  an'  only  you.  Don't  for- 
get that.  Far's  you're  concerned  I'd  not  be 
sorry  if  you  never  spent  another  cent  in  here. 
Like  I  told  you  before,  you  ain't  like  the  rest  of 
'em.  You  got  a  good  eddication  an'  you  ought 
to  make  somethin'  outer  yourself.  You're  goin' 
with  a  girl,  ain't  you?" 

"What  if  I  am?"  Vick  answered  curtly. 

Gallopin'  continued  without  anger. 

"Well.  Take  for  an  instance  that  she  loves 
you  an'  you  love  her.  Sometime  you'll  want 
to  marry  her,  won't  you  ? " 

"More'n  likely,"  Vick  admitted. 

"Sure  you  will!"  Gallopin'  approved  heart- 
ily. "Here's  the  whole  idea,  then;  how  you 
goin'  to  marry  her  if  you  don't  try  to  get  'head 
in  this  here  world  an'  make  it  worth  while  for 
her  to  marry  you  ?  Don't  no  girl  want  to  marry 
a  rummy.  'Course,  you  could  marry  her,  any- 


102  Saturday  Nights 

how,  an'  take  a  chanct  if  she  ain't  got  no  better 
sense." 

"That's  well  'nough,"  Vick  retorted  sourly. 
"But  who  are  you,  Gallopin',  to  preach  at  me? 
You  sell  the  stuff.  You  ought  to  practice  what 
you  preach.  If  I  thought  as  little  as  you  'pear 
to  think,  of  a  drinkin'  man,  I'd  get  outer  the 
business,  I  would." 

Gallopin's  face  darkened  with  anger  and, 
speechless,  he  glared  at  the  boy.  Vick  watched 
him,  certain  in  his  youthful  egotism  of  his 
ability  to  defend  himself  if  Gallopin'  should 
answer  with  a  blow.  But  when  the  man  spoke 
he  spoke  softly. 

"Are  you  sober  'nough  to  listen  to  decent 
talk,  Vick  Joyce?" 

"I'm  plenty  sober." 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  talk  of  my  folks  to  a  man 
what's  drunk." 

"I  ain't  drunk." 

Gallopin'  continued  solemnly: 

"  Listen,  then.  Here's  the  stand  I  take.  You, 
I  want  to  see  you  go  straight.  The  others  that 
come  in  here,  they  got  to  have  their  booze.  If 
they  don't  get  it  here  they'll  get  it  somewheres 
else.  But  they'll  get  it,  they  got  to  have  it. 
This  is  my  livin'.  I'm  a  crip  an'  don't  know  no 


At  the  Cross-Roads  103 

other  game.  God  knows  if  I  did  I'd  quit  this 
bus 'ness  an'  go  to  it! 

"But  I  can't  afford  to  take  a  chanct.  'Way 
out  in  the  edge  of  town  is  my  fambly — my  wife 
an'  five  little  girls.  Think  of  that,  Vick  Joyce." 
The  man's  voice  held  not  a  trace  of  its  habitual 
harshness.  "Five  little  girls.  They  live  as  far 
'way  from  this  here  dump  as  I  can  get  'em  an' 
they  don't  know  what  their  daddy  does  for  a 
livin'.  I'm  bankin*  that  by  the  time  they  get 
bigger  somethin'  will  turn  up  that'll  gimme  the 
nerve  to  quit.  I  don't  care  what.  But  like 
things  are  now  I  can't  take  the  chanct.  'Em 
girls  have  got  to  be  raised  an'  it's  goin'  to  take  a 
pile  of  money. 

'You  can  see,  now,  can't  you,  lad,  why  I 
don't  get  outer  the  bus'ness.  There's  a  livin' 
here  for  me  an'  'em.  'Em  little  girls  is  the  life 
of  me;  they  got  to  have  their  chanct  in  their 
tussle  with  life.  If  I  quit  the  saloon  there's 
nothin'  'head  of  'em  but  a  fact'ry — an'  God 
knows  there's  too  many  fact'ry  girls  in  Burley- 
ton  now!" 

"Right,  Gallopin'!"  Vick  agreed.  "You're 
right,  an'  I'm  a  cheese.  You  been  talkin'  sense 
to  me.  I  can  do  better  than  I  been  doin'  an'  I'm 
goin'  to.  There's  somebody  at  home."  A  vision 


104  Saturday  Nights 

of  Sarah  with  sorrowing  face  swam  before  his 
bleared  eyes.  "I'm  goin'  to  cut  it  out,  Gal- 
lopin', but  it'll  be  hard  as  hell  to  stay  outer 
here." 

"You  ain't  got  to,"  Gallopin'  declared.  "I 
stay  here,  don't  I?  I  don't  drink,  do  I?  You 
drop  in  whenever  you  feel  like  it.  I'm  your 
friend  an'  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"All  right,"  Vick  promised. 

He  reached  for  the  shoulder  of  the  sodden 
Shad.  Gallopin'  grasped  the  extended  hand. 

"Lemme  say  one  more  thing,  Vick  Joyce." 
The  man  had  resumed  his  mask  of  sardonic 
harshness.  "I've  opened  up  to  you — wide — an' 
talked  'bout  my  little  girls.  I  want  to  warn 
you;  don't  you  never  pass  what  I  said  on  to 
somebody  else.  Understand?  I  know  you'll 
keep  a  shut  mouth  'less  sometime,  in  spite  of 
yourself,  you  get  tanked  up.  If  you  ever  do 
open  up  an*  Gallopin'  Dick  hears  of  it,  our 
friendship  is  done — finished.  Besides  that,  I'll 
knock  your  blasted  head  off!" 

Vick  met  the  threatening  glare  in  the  eyes  of 
the  older  man  with  a  smile. 

"  I'm  tellin'  you  plain,  Gallopin',"  he  said,  "  I 
ain't  sure  you're  man  'nough  to  do  that.  Any- 
how, I  ain't  aimin'  to  spill  a  word  of  what  you 


At  the  Cross-Roads  105 

told  me.  If  I  did,  I  reggon  for  such  a  low-down 
trick  I'd  stand  still  an'  let  you  knock  my  head 
off." 

Gallopin',  carrying  his  habitual  scowl,  limped 
back  to  his  place  behind  the  bar,  while  Vick 
roused  Shad  into  some  semblance  of  life.  That 
Saturday  night  the  lad  reached  home  earlier 
than  usual.  And  he  was  sober  when  he  got 

there. 

****** 

To  Shad's  bewildered  disgust  Vick  did  stop 
drinking,  for  a  time.  Loyal  to  the  painful  end, 
the  stolid  youth  swore  that  he  too  would  "cut 
out  the  stuff."  He  meant  it  then  but  the  very 
next  Saturday  night  Vick  did  his  duty  by  his  pal 
and  piloted  him  home. 

Vick  was  harassed  by  his  own  tribulations  in 
the  days  that  followed.  There  was  nothing  to 
do;  nowhere  to  go  save  during  the  hours  he 
was  permitted  to  spend  with  Eva  Wann.  The 
boy  felt  that  if  he  could  always  be  with  her,  his 
reformation  would  have  been  much  easier.  To 
Vick  the  girl  was  an  intoxicant.  Strong  drink 
could  not  have  more  surely  bewitched  him  of  his 
senses. 

For  several  nights  Gallopin'  Dick  covertly 
watched  him  as  he  moped  in  his  misery  around 


106  Saturday  Nights 

the  saloon.  The  lad  was  among  the  crowd  yet 
not  of  it.  Gallopin',  with  long  years  of  experi- 
ence, knew  that  Vick  could  not  forever  with- 
stand the  unceasing  urge  of  Shad  to  "  be  human 
and  have  a  drink."  Gallopin'  must  have  given 
some  thought  to  the  problem. 

"Vick,"  he  said  one  night,  taking  care  to 
avoid  any  manner  of  seriousness,  "things  are 
kinder  slow,  ain't  they?  Why  don't  you  join 
the  Guards?" 

"Huh?    The  Guards?" 

"  Sure.  The  military,  you  know.  There's  a 
chanct  for  a  lad  like  you  to  get  next  to  some 
good  people.  They're  always  pullin'  off  some 
stunt,  too,  excitin';  boxin'  an'  the  like." 

"That  so?"    Vick  was  interested. 

"They  got  a  first-class  gym,  with  a  bath  an' 
eve'ything,  so  I  hear.  Man,  if  I  was  younger 
an'  had  legs  that  was  mates,  I'd  go  in  myself. 
Ain't  no  hard  work  to  it;  just  parades  an'  such 
doin's  on  Memorial  days  an'  such  times.  Why 
don't  you  join  'em,  Vick?  Then  you'd  have  a 
place  to  go  on  your  off  nights." 

"Reggon  they'd  take  me,  Gallopin'?" 

Gallopin*  smiled  his  delight. 

"  Glad  to  get  you.  One  of  the  officers  works 
'cross  the  way.  He  drops  in  sometimes  for  a 


At  the  Cross-Roads  107 

beer.  Was  tellin'  me  today  that  they  was 
wantin'  recruits." 

"How  often  d'you  have  to  go?" 

"Drill  two  nights  a  week." 

Vick  considered.  His  regular  engagements 
with  Eva,  in  addition  to  two  drill  nights,  would 
about  fill  his  hours  of  recreation.  Idle  time  in 
or  about  the  saloon  made  difficult  going  of  his 
determination  not  to  drink. 

"I  b'lieve  I'll  join,"  he  said;  "me  an*  Shad." 

"Him?" 

"Sure,  him!  He's  always  stuck  to  me,  ain't 
he?  If  it'll  do  me  good  it'll  do  him  good." 

"All  right,  take  him  along.  It  might  help  the 
rummy,  at  that." 

When  the  matter  was  broached  to  Shad  he 
promptly  declined  to  consider  the  proposition. 

"  I  don't  wanter  be  no  soldier,  Vick." 

"Aw,  take  a  tumble,  Shad.  Who's  askin'  you 
to  be  a  soldier?"  Vick  was  mildly  sarcastic. 
"This  is  just  play." 

"I  don't  wanter  even  play  bein'  a  soldier. 
Sometime  or  'nother  they'll  take  these  here  play- 
boys an'  give  'em  some  shootin'  to  do.  An' 
when  you  shoot  at  somebody  —  somebody's 
more'n  likely  to  shoot  back  at  you." 

"What  if  they  do?"  Vick  scornfully  replied. 


108  Saturday  Nights 

"You're  a  man,  ain't  you,  same  as  me?  All 
you  think  'bout  is  lickin'  up  whisky!" 

Ultimately  Shad  was  shamed  into  agreement 
and  was  sworn,  along  with  Vick,  into  the  ranks 
of  the  Burleyton  Guards.  Vick  was  ardent. 
The  venture  appealed  to  him,  but  Shad  was 
more  than  reluctant.  Yet  even  he  admitted, 
after  several  drills,  that  play-soldiering,  as  he 
termed  it,  was  interesting. 

In  the  first  weeks  the  chums  were  regular  in 
their  attendance  when  drill  nights  rolled  around. 
Vick  took  care  that  Shad  accompanied  him,  not 
permitting  the  chum's  interest  to  lag. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  the  interests 
of  B  Company  and  Eva  Wann  clashed.  The 
girl  feared  that  Vick's  increasing  interest  in  the 
Guards  would  mean  decreasing  interest  in  her 
and  that  she  was  determined  to  prevent.  She 
began  her  campaign  by  claiming  drill  nights  as 
her  own  and  made  it  plain  to  Vick  that  he  must 
be  with  her  those  evenings  —  if  at  all. 

At  first  she  had  her  way;  then  one  day  Vick 
decided  to  resist.  He  would  fight  fire  with  fire. 
The  previous  evening  Eva,  knowing  the  next  was 
drill  night,  had  suggested  that  Vick  call,  but  he 
had  refused  to  promise.  Knowing  his  weakness 
where  Eva  was  involved,  he  realized  that  some- 


At  the  Cross-Roads  109 

thing  more  amusing,  or  more  of  a  duty,  than 
drill  was  necessary  to  keep  him  away  from  the 
Wann  flat.  Determined  not  to  yield,  he  chanced 
upon  a  happy  thought.  Just  before  he  left 
home  he  promised  Hesba  he  would  later  come 
back  for  her  and  take  her  to  a  show. 

The  brown-eyed  girl  was  delighted.  To-night, 
Vick  assured  himself,  he  would  miss  the  drill  but 
whatever  happened  he  would  not  disappoint 
Hesba. 

In  Gallopin'  Dick's  Vick  stood  talking  to  his 
chum.  "You  run  'long,  Shad.  I  ain't  goin'  to 
the  armory  to-night." 

"Ain't  goin'  to  drill?    Why?" 

"Got  other  fish  to  fry." 

Shad  thought  he  understood. 

"Ain't  girls  hell,  now?"  he  inquired  of  the 
world  in  general.  "They  sure  a  keep  a  man 
worried  up ! " 

He  ignored  Vick's  glare  and,  strolling  over 
to  a  table,  settled  himself  for  the  evening.  With 
his  pal  not  there  the  armory  held  little  attraction 
for  Shad. 

Vick  sauntered  through  the  night  toward  home 
and  the  waiting  Hesba.  The  nearer  he  approached 
the  house  the  slower  he  walked  and  at  the  corner 
he  came  to  a  full  stop.  He  could  see  a  light  in 


110  Saturday  Nights 

Mrs.  Cooper's  front  room  and  imagined  he 
discerned  a  gleam  of  white  in  the  shadows  of 
the  tiny  porch. 

For  a  full  minute  the  lad  stood  in  indecision; 
then,  surrendering  to  the  sudden  urge,  he  spun 
on  his  heel  and  hurried  down  Yarder  Street. 
As  he  went  he  tried  to  put  the  thought  of  that 

waiting  figure  on  the  porch  out  of  his  mnd. 

****** 

With  the  uncomfortable  feeling  of  one  evad- 
ing a  duty  Vick  climbed  the  gloomy  steps  to  the 
Wann  flat.  At  his  knock  Eva  opened  the  door 
and  he  stepped  into  the  parlor.  Upon  the  couch, 
in  the  very  spot  where  he  had  sat  so  many  times 
with  Eva,  lounged  the  grinning  Dill,  resplend- 
ent in  a  new  suit  of  shrieking  checks. 

Vick  did  not  speak  to  his  enemy,  he  dared  not. 
Once  he  opened  his  mouth  his  tongue  would  be 
beyond  his  control.  Inarticulate  in  his  anger  he 
turned  upon  the  smiling  girl. 

"Hello."  Eva  spoke  coolly,  too  coolly.  "I 
wasn't  'spectin'  you,  Vick,  you  didn't  tell  me 
you  was  comin.'  I  had  the  date  open  an'  I  give 
it  to  Mr.  Dill." 

Mr.  Dill  widened  his  expansive  grin  and 
settled  himself  more  comfortably,  enjoying  the 
humiliation  of  his  rival. 


At  the  Cross-Roads  111 

"All  right,"  Vick  muttered  and  turned  to 
leave. 

"Oh,  you're  not  goin'?"  Eva's  voice  was 
clingingly  sweet. 

"  I'm  goin'."  The  lad  spoke  thickly.  He  could 
not  trust  himself  there,  in  front  of  Dill,  to  say 
more.  Eva  followed  him  into  the  hall,  and  took 
care  to  close  the  door  behind  her. 

'You're  not  mad,"  she  cooed. 

"Mad — mad?"  he  incoherently  replied.  "I 
could  choke  the  life  outer  that  fellow ! " 

"  But  you're  not  mad  at  me,  Vick." 

She  nestled  close  to  him,  challenging  him, 
luring  him.  He  swept  her  rudely  into  his  arms 
and  she  yielded  him  her  lips.  He  crushed  them 
with  his  own,  hurting  her,  and  she  thrust  herself 
from  him.  Eva  had  yet  to  lose  command  of  her 
calculating  self.  There  must  no  tinge  of  pain 
for  her  in  the  love  she  accepted.  She  was  exact- 
ing, requiring  nothing  more  or  less  than  total 
submissiveness.  In  return  she  gave  nothing. 

"I  reggon  I  can't  stay  mad  with  you,"  Vick 
whispered.  'You  walk  on  me,  you  treat  me 
like  you  would  a  dog,  an'  I  have  to  take  it!" 

She  smiled  in  the  darkness.  "Then  why're 
you  leavin'  me?" 

"  Get  rid  of  that  fellow  an'  I'll  stay." 


112  Saturday  Nights 

"You  had  your  chanct  to  come.  Last  night 
you  wouldn't  promise." 

"  I  hated  to  miss  the  drill." 

"My  Gawd,  an'  still  you  say  you  love  me! 
You  put  'em  tin  soldiers  first  —  ahead  of  me!" 

"You  don't  understand — 

"I  understand  a  plenty!"  she  stormily 
interrupted. 

"Won't  you  tell  him  to  go,  Eva?" 

A  thrilling  silence  in  the  dark,  then  at  length 
a  much  subdued  youth  spoke. 

"Can  I  come  to  see  you  tomorrow  night, 
then?" 

"I  reggon  so." 

She  left  him  there  in  the  hall  and  Vick,  im- 
partially cursing  himself,  Dill,  and  the  girl, 
plunged'  down  the  stairs.  He  was  white  and 
drawn  of  face  when,  half  an  hour  later,  he 
slammed  through  the  doors  of  Gallopin'  Dick's. 
Shad  was  yet  there  and  the  two  stepped  to  the 
bar. 

"Whisky,"  Vick  said  to  Gallopin'. 

The  man  showed  his  surprise.    "  Now,  boy — " 

Vick  allowed  himself  a  weary  gesture. 

"I'm  sick  of  that  talk!"  he  snapped. 

"Drink,  then!"  Gallopin'  growled.  "Swim 
in  it,  sink  in  it,  drown  in  it,  you  blasted  fool!" 


At  the  Cross-Roads  113 

Next  morning  Vick  met  Hesba  in  the  down- 
stairs halls,  both  on  their  way  to  work.  The  lad 
would  have  avoided  a  meeting  but  the  girl  con- 
fronted him.  He  halted  irresolute,  shamefaced 
and  something  more.  Here  was  a  new  Hesba, 
chin  high  in  regal  resentment,  brown  eyes 
snapping  their  anger. 

"I  enjoyed  the  show  last  night,"  she  said 
evenly. 

"Aw,  Hesba—" 

"  I  just  want  to  remind  you  that  I  didn't  put 
myself  in  your  way.  I  didn't  ask  you  to  take 
me.  And  I  waited.  Whatever  faults  you  got 
I  had  no  reason  to  think  you  were  a  liar!" 

"But  I  wasn't,"  Vick  protested. 

Her  brows  lifted  in  open  disbelief.  "Then 
why  did  you  break  the  engagement?" 

"Somethin'  come  up  that  kept  me  'way;  I'll 
tell  you  sometime,"  he  mumbled,  averting  his 
face. 

"You  don't  have  to  tell  me;  I'm  not  expect- 
ing any  apology  from  you!"  Vick  winced. 
The  words  cut.  "When  you'd  rather  be  with 
Eva  Wann — why  make  an  engagement  with  me, 
and  then  break  it?" 

"I  didn't  mean  to,  Hesba,"  earnestly.  "I 
meant  to  come  back  for  you.  But  she,  Eva  —  I 


114  Saturday  Mghts 

got  to  thinkin'  'bout  her.  I  tried  to  come,  I  got 
far's  the  corner,  but  I  had  to,  somethin'  made  me 
turn  an'  go  to  her." 

"You  mean  to  tell  me,"  Hesba  flashed,  "that 
you're  her  slave?  She  walks  on  you,  Vick  Joyce. 
You've  no  more  spirit  than  a  cur." 

"I  had  to  go." 

Hesba  laughed  her  scorn,  but  she  lowered  her 
lids  that  he  might  not  see  the  pain  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  can't  say  I  like  your  taste,"  she  remarked, 
tossing  her  head.  "Eva  Warm!" 

The  disdain  in  the  vibrant  voice  lashed  him. 
Inwardly,  Vick  raged,  raged  that  one  held  him 
to  the  sway  of  her  passing  whims  and  that  the 
other  comprehended  the  helpless  humiliation  of 
it.  He  was  ready  to  force  a  way  past  her  but 
with  his  first  move  Hesba  stepped  aside  as  if  she 
were  glad  to,  as  if  she  might  not  touch  one  so 
base.  Some  mornings  the  two  walked  together 
as  far  as  Main  Street  —  but  not  this  morning. 


Chapter  10 

\ 

CAVE-MAN  TACTICS 

It  was  late  afternoon  at  Dearborn's.  Dad 
Updike,  from  some  investigation  upstairs,  came 
down  to  the  press  room  and  peering  over  his 
silver-framed  spectacles  searched  the  place  even 
unto  its  darkened  corners.  Patience  fled  the  old 
man's  face  and  upon  his  homely  features  a  frown 
appeared. 

"Dag  that  love-sick  Vick!"  he  ejaculated. 

One  long  stride  placed  him  within  reach  of  a 
tier  of  steam  pipes,  one  which  bent  abruptly 
down  into  the  smoking  room.  Upon  it  Dad 
rapped  smartly  with  an  iron  weight. 

Below,  Vick  heard  his  chief's  signal  of  wrath. 
He  hurriedly  ended  a  whispered  conversation 
with  the  queenly  Eva  and  hastened  up  to  his 
impatient  superior. 

"Dag  it  all,  Vick!"  Dad  exclaimed.  "You 
ain't  never  on  the  floor  when  I  want  you.  Ain't 
you  never  goin'  to  stay  'way  from  that  gal  a 
hour  at  a  time?" 

115 


116  Saturday  Mghts 

"Aw,  Dad,"  Vick  remonstrated,  evading  the 
reference  to  Eva.  "I  ain't  been  gone  over  two 
minutes.  I  ain't  no  slave." 

"  Naw — you  ain't  no  slave,  not  to  your  work." 
Vick  flushed.  "All  you  got  to  do  is  to  put  in 
your  time  right  here  an'  not  hang  'round  that 
red-headed  gal  in  the  smokin'  room." 

"I  don't  hang  'round  her!"  Vick  retorted, 
flushing  in  his  anger.  "An'  she  ain't  red- 
headed!" 

"She  ain't,  ain't  she?"  Dad  growled.  "Any- 
how, the  color  of  her  hair  ain't  got  nothin'  a-tall 
to  do  with  it.  You're  shirkin'  your  job,  that's 
the  sum  total  of  it ! " 

"I  ain't!"  Vick  flared.  "I'm  on  the  job  'most 
all  the  time.  Can't  I  leave  for  a  minute?" 

"Aw,  Vick,"  the  old  fellow  was  almost  plead- 
ing, "  I  wouldn't  mind  it  so  much  if  she  was  the 
gal  for  you.  But  she's  making  a  clown  outer 
you,  lad." 

"That's  my  funeral." 

"I  ain't  sayin'  it  ain't,"  said  Dad,  quietly, 
"but  so  be  it  happens  that  I'm  a  mourner.  I 
reggon  I  got  a  right  to  a  word  or  so.  'Seems 
to  me,  boy,  if  I  wanted  a  gal  I'd  get  me  one 
that's  loyal.  Anyhow,  one  what  wouldn't  put 
me  up  for  a  promiscuous  laugh  from  all  hands 


Cave-Man  Tactics  117 

in  a  tobacco  fact'ry,  just  because  I  was  crazy 
about  her." 

"  She  is  loyal,"  Vick  protested. 

" Loyal! "  The  lanky  foreman  laughed  at  the 
idea.  "If  she's  loyal  to  you,  Vick,  then  the 
word  ain't  got  the  same  meanin'  it  use  to  have." 

"What  d'you  mean?" 

"  She  ain't  loyal,  that's  all.  You  went  to 
school  more'n  I  ever  did,  I  reggon,  an'  you 
know  the  full  meanin'  of  the  word." 

"  She  is  loyal,"  Vick  said  stubbornly. 

"Vick,"  earnestly,  "I'm  goin'  to  speak  a  plain 
piece.  That  gal  ain't  good  'nough  for  you.  She 
flirts,  why,  dag  it,  boy,  she  flirts  with  eve'body 
in  the  fact'ry.  Sure,  lad,"  Dad  continued,  "if 
she  was  a  gal  who  might  make  you  a  good  wife 
some  day,  why,  I  wouldn't  care  if  you  did  waste 
a  bit  of  time  with  her.  But  she  ain't,  an'  you 
can't." 

"  I  don't  think  any  more  of  you  for  tryin'  to 
blacken  her  character."  Vick's  voice  was  strained. 

"Right  this  minute  I  know  you  don't,  Vick." 
Dad  was  never  more  serious  in  his  serious  life. 
"But  I  weighed  my  words.  Like  I  said,  she's 
a  flirt,  a  cold-blooded  flirt,  an'  I  know  it.  She's 
purty,  I  got  to  admit,  but  when  you've  said  that 
you've  said  all  of  it." 


118  Saturday  Nights 

"You  got  to  prove  that,  Dad  Updike!"  Vick 
snapped. 

"Hey?"  Dad  stared  his  surprise  over  his 
glasses.  "Prove  it?  Well,  now — " 

"You  got  to" — relentlessly. 

"  Well,  now,"  deliberately,  "  I  reggon  I  can." 
The  old  man  held  his  tongue  for  an  instant's 
thought.  "I  ain't  much  to  look  at  in  the  way 
of  hem'  handsome.  That's  truth,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,"  Vick  brutally  agreed. 

Dad  grinned.  "  Then,  if  the  gal'll  flirt  with 
me,  an  old  man,  just  cause  I'm  a  male,  you'll 
b'lieve,  won't  you,  that  she's  one  of  nature's 
nuisances,  a  rattle-brained  flirt?" 

Vick  was  silent. 

"Won't  you?"  Dad  was  gentle.  "Come 
now.  A  fair  test,  lad." 

"  I  reggon  so." 

"All  right.  The  quittin'  whistle'll  blow  in 
a  minute.  When  it  does  you  put  yourself  where 
she  can't  see  you  an'  you'll  find  out  that  old 
Dad's  been  talkin'  sense." 

"  'Tain't  fair,  spyin'  on  her." 

Dad  countered  shrewdly: 

'  'Tis  fair  in  a  case  like  this  here.  If  she's  a 
nice  gal,  nice  'nough  to  be  your  wife,  she'll  pay 
no  'tention  to  the  carryin'-ons  of  a  ugly  old  guy 


Cave-Man  Tactics  H9 

like  me.  If  she  ain't  a  nice  gal  you  want  to 
know  it." 

They  were  in  Updike's  office  when  someone  in 
the  engine  room  jerked  wide  the  throttle  of  the 
whistle  and  Dad  made  ready  for  the  street. 
Chuckling  with  the  zest  of  the  game  he  motioned 
Vick  to  secrete  himself.  Dad  had,  since  first  he 
heard  the  gossip  about  Eva  and  Vick,  observed 
the  girl  keenly  at  every  opportunity,  and  he  felt 
no  quaver  of  conscience  when  he  stationed 
himself  in  the  office  door. 

She  came  mincing  through  the  main  aisle,  her 
bright  eyes  darting  this  way  and  that,  as  if  in 
quest  of  masculine  prey.  Dad  struck  a  jaunty 
pose  and  called. 

"Hello,  purty!" 

Vick,  behind  the  door,  winced  at  the  caressing 
inflection  of  the  old  man's  voice. 

"  Hello,  gran'pop,"  Eva  coquettishly  answered. 
The  call  of  the  male  was  compelling  and  she 
stopped,  flashing  a  smile. 

"What's  your  hurry?" 

"Hurry?    It's  gettin'  time  to  eat,  ain't  it?" 

"Aw,  plenty  of  time.  Come  here  a  second. 
How  'bout  me  an'  you — just  us  —  goin'  uptown 
some  night  an'  havin'  a  big  supper?  After  a 
show,  just  you  an'  me?" 


120  Saturday  Nights 

With  incredible  boldness,  from  the  anguished 
viewpoint  of  Vick,  Dad  fondled  the  girl's  smooth 
chin  with  a  bony  forefinger.  The  eyes  of  the 
lad  hardened.  The  girl,  his  girl,  did  not  resent 
the  impudent  action;  moreover,  she  roguishly 
dimpled,  apparently  enjoying  the  familiarity. 

"Go  on,  gran'pop!    You  wouldn't  do  it." 

"Who,  me?  Wouldn't  I,  now?"  Dad  spoke 
gaily.  "The  old  boy  ain't  so  old,  p'haps,  as  he 
looks.  How  'bout  it,  little  purty?" 

Eva,  still  smiling,  measured  him. 

"  I  got  the  coin,  all  right,"  Dad  boasted.  "  I 
ain't  so  handsome  as  some  of  the  young  pups 
'round  here,  but  I  got  the  coin  an'  they  ain't. 
How  'bout  it,  Miss  Lady?" 

"It's  a  bet,  Dad.    I'll  go  with  you." 

"What  night?" 

"'Most  any." 

"What  'bout  Vick,  though?  S'pose  it's  his 
night  to  see  you?" 

"Aw,  why  worry,"  Eva  carelessly  retorted. 
"  He  ain't  bound  to  see  me  any  partic'lar  night. 
We  can  easy  put  him  off." 

Dad  grasped  a  willing  hand  and  squeezed  it 
tightly.  The  old  fellow  must  have  played  the 
game  himself  in  his  day. 

"How  'bout  a  little  hug,  Eva;  just  one  to 


Cave-Man  Tactics  121 

show  your  word's  good,  that  we  understand  each 
other,"  Dad  suggested,  speaking  confidentially, 
though  not  so  low  that  Vick  could  not  hear  and 
hearing,  bit  his  lips  till  the  blood  came. 

Laughing,  she  gazed  archly  up  at  Dad, 
neither  denying  nor  giving  the  desired  per- 
mission. Dad  was  there  for  a  purpose.  He 
relentlessly  grabbed  her,  and  as  relentlessly 
hugged  her.  Still  laughing,  Eva  broke  free  and 
walked  off,  smoothing  her  ruffled  feathers. 

"Don't  forget!"  Dad  called,  grinning  shame- 
lessly. 

Still  grinning,  Dad  turned  into  the  office. 
"Well,  Vick—" 

The  remark  was  never  ended.  The  grin  froze 
tight  for  an  instant,  then  gave  place  to  a  look  of 
fear  as  the  older  man  saw  Vick  charging  at  him, 
his  fists  swinging,  his  face  bloodless  in  jealous 
fury. 

The  foreman,  strong  and  active  in  spite  of  his 
age,  might  have  put  up  a  defense  if  there  had 
been  time,  but  before  he  could  move  Vick  struck. 
The  blow  caught  Dad  upon  the  point  of  his  chin. 
His  spectacles  sailed  into  a  corner,  breaking  into 
bits,  his  gangling  legs  failed  him,  and  he  settled 
to  the  floor — out. 

Vick  ran  for  his  coat  and  cap.  He  felt  no  pity 


122  Saturday  Nights 

for  the  stricken  man.  There  was  in  his  heart,  at 
the  moment,  no  room  for  any  emotion  but  hate, 
hate  of  everyone,  everything — Dad,  the  girl, 
and  himself. 

"Damn  the  old  hypocrite!"  he  raged  as  he 
stepped  into  Main  Street.  "Damn  Dearborn's 
—  I'm  done  with  the  rotten  dump  an*  eve'ybody 

in  it!" 

****** 

To  Sarah's  consternation  Vick  began  to  loaf 
and,  making  things  worse  in  the  beginning,  he 
did  not  tell  his  sister  why  he  had  given  up  his 
job.  Sarah  was  bound  to  have  the  facts.  At 
Lynn's  first  call  she  got  the  truth  from  him. 

She  pleaded  with  Vick  to  apologize  to  Dad 
and  petition  for  his  place  again.  The  vehemence 
of  the  lad's  refusal  startled  her.  He  swore 
that  never  again  would  he  work  at  Dearborn's 
and  to  himself  he  vowed  he  would  not  go  near 
Eva  Wann. 

Moodily  engrossed  with  the  struggle  to  keep 
away  from  the  girl  Vick  idled  for  hours  in 
Gallopin'  Dick's,  to  that  worthy's  outspoken 
disgust.  At  meal  times  the  lad  dispiritedly 
dragged  himself  to  the  house  in  Yarder  Street. 

The  first  Saturday  after  the  quarrel  Shad,  at 
Vick's  request,  brought  him  the  envelope  con- 


Cave-Man  Tactics  123 

taining  what  money  he  had  earned.  Of  this 
Sarah  received  nothing.  That  night  Vick 
squandered  every  cent,  seeking,  and  finding, 
forgetfulness. 

He  came  home  with  the  dawn,  finding  an 
apprehensive  Sarah.  This  was  the  first  time 
Vick  had  stayed  away  the  entire  night  and  his 
wan  face  showed  the  strain  of  his  dissipation. 

"Vick,  Vick,"  Sarah  pleaded,  "what  are  you 
comin'  to?" 

"  Lemme  'lone,  go  to  sleep,"  he  mumbled,  and 
fell  upon  the  cot  in  the  kitchen. 

Some  hours  later,  sober  and  sick,  he  promised 
Sarah  he  would  on  the  morrow  seek  a  job.  But 
he  steadfastly  refused  to  humble  himself,  as  he 
phrased  it,  to  Dad  Updike.  Anything  else. 

Next  morning  Vick  confided  in  Gallopin'. 
The  saloon  man  was  not  without  a  certain 
amount  of  influence.  After  lecturing  the  lad  he 
gave  him  a  note  to  an  official  of  the  street  car 
company,  and  that  day  saw  Vick  on  the  rear 
platform  of  a  Main  Street  car,  a  beginner,  work- 
ing under  the  eyes  of  an  experienced  conductor. 

As  the  week  passed,  Vick  felt  the  longing  to 
see  Eva  grow  stronger  and  stronger,  and  even 
while  he  cursed  himself  for  his  weakness,  he 
knew  that  the  longing  would  master  him  in  the 


124  Saturday  Nights 

end.  If  there  could  have  been  any  plausible 
explanation  of  the  scene  with  Updike  Vick 
would  have  rushed  to  her  and,  on  his  knees, 
gladly  begged  her  forgiveness  for  his  neglect. 
But  he  realized,  now,  that  Dad  had  described 
her  exactly.  She  was  what  she  was,  but  what- 
ever she  was  he  loved  her. 

On  Sunday  Vick  knew  himself  no  longer 
able  to  resist  the  attraction.  In  the  afternoon  he 
went  to  her,  abject  in  his  surrneder.  It  was  a 
conquered  lad  that  climbed  the  stairs  to  the 
Wann  home. 

Eva  opened  the  parlor  door. 

"Vick,  where've  you  been?"  she  demanded, 
as  one  might  have  greeted  the  return  of  a 
strayed  dog. 

"I've  been  sick,  Eva;  sick  for  you." 

"Aw,  Vick!" 

"  I  want  to  have  a  long  talk,"  Vick  continued 
soberly.  "Let's  go  out  some  place.  Up  on  the 
bluff." 

He  did  not  mention  her  behavior  with  Dad. 
It  could  not  have  done  any  good.  On  the  street 
corner  below  they  boarded  a  car  and  rode  out  to 
The  Heights.  Eva  was  vivacious,  while  Vick 
was  silent.  He  was  angry  with  himself  that  he 
was  content  just  to  be  near  her. 


Cave-Man  Tactics  125 

Reaching  The  Heights  they  left  the  trolley 
and  sauntered  down  a  path  to  the  bluff  that 
overhung  the  shallow  falls  of  the  river.  On  a 
grassy  spot  they  seated  themselves. 

The  river  was  low,  yet  even  then  the  current 
was  tremendous.  The  water  rushed  swiftly  past 
gigantic  bowlders,  partly  submerged,  their  tops 
rusty-brown  of  color.  Below  the  rocks,  nearer 
the  smoother  water  of  Tobacco  Flats,  the  slanting 
ends  of  fish-traps  jutted  above  the  surface.  The 
slatted  bottom  of  one  held  captive  a  floundering 
fish,  its  scales  agleam  in  the  sunlight. 

"  Now  we  can  talk,"  Vick  began.  "  Of  course, 
I'm  comin'  to  see  you  to-night,  too,  but  we  can't 
talk  at  your  home  like  we  can  out  here  by 
ourselves." 

"You're  right  'bout  that,"  Eva  laughed. 
'  You  sure  won't  be  able  to  talk  much  to-night." 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause  Mr.  Dill  is  comin'." 

Vick's  gray  eyes  darkened  with  anger.  They 
sat  near  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  thirty  feet  above 
the  water.  The  girl  indolently  plucked  a  butter- 
cup to  tatters  while  Vick  stared  morosely  at  the 
stream  below. 

His  gaze  lifted  and  was  caught  and  held  by 
the  dull  glow  of  the  summer  sun  on  the  roofs  of 


126  Saturday  Nights 

Tobacco  Flats.  Farther  along,  the  ramshackle 
abodes  of  Little  Hell  clustered  indiscriminately 
in  the  protection  of  the  river's  arm,  where  it  bent 
and  swept  gracefully  onward  in  a  majestic 
curve.  With  passionate  impatience  Vick  turned 
to  the  girl,  love  alive  on  his  face. 

"  Eva,  you  got  to  break  that  date  with  Dill," 
he  said. 

"Got  to?  An*  why?"  A  tormenting  smile 
played  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  'Cause  I  love  you." 

"That  ain't  no  reason."  She  laughed 
mockingly. 

"Ain't  it?"  he  gravely  questioned.  "You 
know  I  love  you." 

"Do  I?  Three-four  have  told  me  that; 
Hawley  Dill  for  one." 

"Dill!  He — Aw,  it  makes  me  mad  to  even 
think  'bout  that  fellow!  My  love  is  true,  Eva, 
it's  love  that'll  live — live  clean  through  till 
we're  old.  I  tell  you,  my  life  won't  be  nothin' 
if  you  ain't  in  it!" 

"No?"  In  the  blue  depths  of  Eva's  eyes 
lurked  provoking  deviltry. 

"Nothin'  a-tall!"  Vick  vehemently  affirmed. 
"I  hate  to  think  of  tryin'  to  live  without  you. 
I  b'lieve  you  love  me,  too,  but  you  got  a  streak 


Cave-Man  Tactics  127 

of  somethin'  in  you  I  can't  understand.  Looks 
like  you  just  won't  give  in  to  me.  An'  I  don't 
see  how  you  can  keep  on  fightin'  my  love,  girl. 
It's  big — big!  It  ought  to  draw  you  to  me  like 
iron  to  a  magnet!" 

"A  pity  it  don't,"  Eva  drawled,  a  golden 
butterfly  at  her  rounded  throat. 

Vick  trembled  with  a  mighty  longing  to  take 
the  girl  in  his  arms  and  smother  with  kisses  the 
cool  white  skin  against  which  the  yellow  glowed. 
He  restrained  himself.  He  knew  that  Eva  was 
well  aware  that  to  him  she  was  irresistible.  This 
was  the  day  to  play  for  all.  She  should  not  melt 
him  into  his  usual  submissiveness. 

"Listen!"  he  said  roughly.  "You  got  a  date 
to-night  with  that  Dill.  I'm  tellin*  you  now, 
Eva,"  his  voice  was  guttural,  "when  he  comes 
to-night  you  won't  be  there  'less  first  you 
promise  to  marry  me." 

"I  won't!"  she  snapped. 

"You  will  or—" 

"What?"  she  flashed. 

'You've  played  with  me  long  'nough,"  Vick 
evaded. 

"Me — played  with  you?"  Her  eyes  were 
wide  in  pretended  innocence. 

"Eva,"  the  lad  pleaded,  "let's  don't  have  no 


128  Saturday  Nights 

more  foolin*.  See — I'm  beggin' — on  my  knees. 
I'm  willin*  to  beg.  That  ain't  nothin',  girl,  to  the 
misery  I  been  livin'  in — in  the  mortal  dread  that 
somebody  else — Dill,  maybe  —  might  get  you!" 

He  caught  her  hands  and  kissed  them  hotly. 
Eva  was  apparently  unmoved  by  the  passionate 
pleading.  She  determinedly  freed  her  hand 
from  his  grasp. 

"I  ain't  goin*  to  many  you — not  yet,  any- 
how," she  told  him. 

"Don't  you  love  me?" 

"  I  ain't  so  sure,"  smilingly. 

Vick  laid  a  hand  upon  her  arm  and  the  girl 
shrank  in  mock  fear.  Moodily  he  watched  her 
as  she  stood  erect,  to  him  adorable  in  her  beau- 
tiful youth.  He  sprang  beside  her. 

"You  ain't  treatin'  me  right!" 

Eva  shrugged  her  shapely  shoulders. 

"Oh,  well,  what's  the  diffrunce,"  she  answered. 
"Le's  go  home." 

For  a  time  Vick  stood  motionless,  looking  at 
the  mocking  girL  "Eva,"  he  said  at  length, 
carefully  selecting  his  words,  "I've  begged  for 
the  last  time.  Xow,  right  now,  you  got  to 
choose.  Me  or  the  river  with  me!" 

"You're  crazy." 

"Crazy  for  you." 


Cave-Man  Tactics  129 

Uneasiness  stirred  the  girl.  "Stop  playin', 
Vick.  I'm  goin'  home," 

"To  Dill?  You  ain't.  You  don't  seem  to 
b'lieve  that  if  you  won't  marry  me  you  ain't 
goin'  to  many  nobody." 

Eva  stared,  angry,  her  face  colorless  but  for 
the  scarlet  spots  of  rouge.  She  noted  Vick's 
look  of  determination  and  for  the  first  time  she 
feared  him. 

"  We  can  drown  together.  Death  won't  mean 
much  to  me,  with  you." 

"You're  crazy,"  she  said  again. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  live  without  you.  I  love  too 
hard." 

Eva  realized,  now,  that  the  lad  she  had  trifled 
with  was  desperate.  She  turned  to  flee  but  Vick 
caught  and  held  her.  In  his  madness  he  lifted 
her  from  the  ground  and  strode  to  the  edge  of 
the  cliff.  The  girl  screamed  as  he  jumped. 

That  cry  of  terror  seemed  to  bring  Vick  back 
to  sanity.  Gone  now  was  his  wild  desire  for 
destruction  and  he  cursed  himself  as  he  fought 
the  deadly  grip  of  the  current.  Swiftly  they 
were  swept  along,  at  times  perilously  close  to 
the  brown-topped  rocks.  In  a  little  came  calmer 
water  and  Vick  succeeded  in  lifting  the  uncon- 
scious girl's  head  clear  of  the  muddy  river.  The 


130  Saturday  Nights 

effort  took  all  his  remaining  strength  and  he 
realized  he  could  not  battle  the  current  much 
longer.  Twice  they  went  under,  then  the  water 
swept  them  with  stunning  force  against  the 
slimy  slats  of  a  fish  trap. 

In  desperation  Vick  dragged  the  girl  free  of 
the  sucking  water.  He  heard  a  shout  and  looked 
toward  the  shore.  From  the  Burleyton  side  a 
boat  was  putting  out,  the  oars  of  a  fisherman 
dipping  energetically.  To  Vick's  unutterable 
relief  Eva  gasped  and  opened  her  eyes. 

"  You're  safe,  Eva,"  he  said.  "  Help  is  comin' 
right  now." 

For  once  Eva  had  no  flippant  answer  ready. 

"  This  here's  a  mess,"  Vick  contritely  continued. 

Still  she  would  not  speak.  Realizing  she  was 
safe,  her  only  thoughts  were  of  her  appearance, 
and  she  busied  herself  squeezing  the  water  from 
her  hair.  She  coiled  the  damp  locks  and  some- 
how secured  them  in  place  as  the  boat  bumped 
against  the  trap. 

"Fall  in?"  came  the  query  of  the  sun-tanned 
occupant. 

"Off  the  bluff  back  there,"  Vick  replied. 

Apparently  Eva  was  satisfied  with  the  ex- 
planation and  Vick  breathed  easier. 

"Hop  in.     I'll  take  you  ashore." 


Cave-Man  Tactics  131 

The  bedraggled  pair  clambered  into  the  boat 
and  the  fisherman  turned  the  prow  toward  his 
shack. 

"  Row  us  down  the  river,  will  you,  near  to  the 
fact'ries,"  Vick  requested.  "  The  lady's  wet  an' 
can't  go  through  the  streets  up  here  like  that. 
It'll  be  'bout  dark  when  we  get  down  there." 

Landing,  they  walked  through  the  twilight  to 
Eva's  home.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairway  Vick 
halted. 

"Can  you  ever  forgive  me,  Eva?"  he  asked. 
"Won't  you  say  somethin'?" 

"I'll  say  somethin',  Vick  Joyce,"  the  girl  re- 
plied harshly.  "You're  a  blamed  fool!" 


Chapter  11 
THE  WAY  OF  A  WOMAN 

Vick  slept  fitfully  that  night.  In  his  dreams 
he  saw  Eva's  terror-stricken  face  as,  with  her  in 
his  arms,  he  leaped  from  the  bluff;  each  time  in 
mid-air  he  awoke,  to  catch  himself,  every  muscle 
tense,  staring  fearfully  into  the  darkness. 

With  the  first  hint  of  daylight  he  left  the  cot 
and  dressed.  Some  time  later  Sarah  made  her 
appearance  and  prepared  breakfast.  While 
Vick  was  forcing  himself  to  eat,  Mrs.  Cooper 
came  up  for  little  Katie  and  Sarah  departed 
with  Hesba  for  her  cigarette  machine  at 
Winter's. 

With  no  thought  of  work  Vick  moped  all  day 
at  home,  striving  in  vain  to  get  away  from  the 
shuddering  horror  of  remembrance.  His  con- 
science was  tender  and  it  ached.  Ever  with  him 
was  the  thought  that  he  had  deserved  drowning, 
if  nothing  worse,  for  taking  Eva  with  him  into 
the  clutch  of  the  yellow  river.  Even  now  the 
lad  could  scarcely  comprehend  the  marvel  of 

132 


The  Way  of  a  Woman          133 

their  escape.  It  -could  have  been  nothing  less,  he 
concluded,  than  the  work  of  God.  And,  on  his 
knees,  he  gave  thanks  that  were  as  incoherent 
as  they  were  sincere. 

Of  one  thing  Vick  was  assured,  and  he  tried 
to  face  the  issue  squarely.  He  had  lost  Eva  for- 
ever. In  his  ignorance  of  women  and  their  ways 
he  had  imagined  that  he  understood  the  workings 
of  Eva's  mind.  Now,  there  were  to  be  no  more 
happy  evenings  for  him  in  the  Wann  parlor. 
He  had  no  blame  for  the  girl,  but  there  was  no 
excuse  for  him,  unless  the  overwhelming  strength 
of  his  love  palliated  his  action  of  yesterday. 

It  was  past  six  when  Sarah  came  home  from 
the  factory.  After  supper  Vick,  wholly  ab- 
sorbed in  his  desolation,  walked  down  Yarder 
Street.  At  Main  he  espied  Shad  in  front  of 
Gallopin'  Dick's  awaiting  his  appearance. 

"Where  you  been?"  Shad  asked.  "Gallopin' 
says  you  ain't  been  in  today." 

"I  ain't  been  feelin'  so  good."  Vick's  voice 
was  disconsolate. 

Shad  stepped  closer,  out  of  hearing  of  others. 
"Got  a  message  for  you,  Vick  —  from  Eva 
Wann." 

The  weary  stoop  vanished  from  Vick's  shoul- 
ders and  his  eyes  flared  his  interest. 


134  Saturday  Mghts 

"What  is  it?"  he  demanded.  "What  did  she 
say?" 

Shad  grinned  at  the  abrupt  change  in  Vick's 
bearing. 

"She  just  told  me  to  tell  you  she  wanted  to 
see  you." 

"Did  she  tell  you  that?"  Plainly  Vick  was 
incredulous. 

"She  sure  did." 

For  an  instant  the  unexpected  summons  gave 
him  hope;  then  came  the  gloomy  thought  that  he 
was  being  summonsed,  criminal  that  he  was,  to 
receive  Eva's  sentence  of  punishment.  His 
shoulders  drooped  again. 

"  Shad,  I'm  in  trouble,"  he  muttered. 

"  Tell  me,  Vick.     Maybe  I  can  help." 

"  It's  'tween  me  an'  her,  Shad.  You  can't  do 
nothin'." 

"I  reggon  I  can't,"  Shad  sulkily  agreed. 
"Things  is  gettin'  mighty  thick  'tween  you  an* 
Eva  Warm.  You  got  right  many  secrets." 

"Maybe  I'll  tell  you  this  one  —  after  to-night. 
It  all  depends  on  what's  what." 

With  a  "so-long"  not  especially  cheerful  Vick 
left  Shad  and  started  for  the  girl's  home. 

Eva  must  have  been  waiting,  for  the  door 
opened  at  his  first  tap.  Vick  entered  the  room 


The  Way  of  a  Woman          135 

hesitatingly.  The  light  of  the  familiar  lamp  was 
low  and  he  could  not  discern  her  face  distinctly. 
Motionless,  she  stood  in  front  of  him.  The  lad 
was  half  afraid  to  end  the  silence,  fearing  an 
avalanche  of  bitter  accusation. 

"Eva — I  —  did  you  send — "  he  faltered. 

"Vick — yes  —  I  sent  for  you.  I'm  glad  you 
came,"  she  said,  and  there  was  laughter,  the  mirth 
of  unrestrained  joy,  in  her  voice. 

Vick  looked  his  amazement.  Eva  laughing, 
when  he  had  expected  bitter  reproaches ! 

'  You  ain't  mad,  girl? "  he  asked  in  wonder  at 
this  miracle. 

"I  ain't  mad,  Vick.  ...  An'  Vick.  What 
you  asked  me  'bout  on  the  bluff — 'bout  love.  I 
think  I  know  now." 

With  one  irresistible  sweep  he  gathered  her  in 
his  arms  and  she  rested  there,  smiling.  T4ie  glo- 
rious fact  that  she  acknowledged  her  love  was  all 
that  Vick  desired  to  learn.  Just  at  the  moment 
the  whys  and  wherefores  did  not  interest  him. 

"  You  forgive  me,  Eva?" 

Vick's  madness  on  the  river  bank  must  have 
made  an  impression  upon  the  girl's  heart,  stir- 
ring within  her  something  of  an  echo  of  his 
honest  love. 

4  'Course  I  forgive  you,  foolish,"  she  whis- 


136  Saturday  Nights 

pered,  "love  made  you  do  what  you  done.  An' 
it  made  me  know  what  love  is." 

Vick  murmured  his  thankfulness  and  kissed 
her  once  more,  lingeringly.  Then  he  gently 
grasped  her  arm  and  led  her  to  the  couch  in  the 
corner. 

"Le's  talk,"  he  suggested. 

"  'Bout  what?  "archly. 

"  'Bout  our  love  an' — marriage." 

So  they  talked  of  their  love  and  their  mar- 
riage. Though  the  wished-for  ceremony  ap- 
peared only  on  the  dim  horizon  of  the  vague 
future,  Vick  was  fatuously  happy.  To  him  it 
seemed  that  all  he  wanted  of  life  was  within  his 

grasp  at  last. 

*  #  *  *  # 

Summer  merged  slowly  into  fall,  then  cold 
weather.  To  Vick  that  winter  was  overlong  and 
filled  with  discouragement.  With  the  contem- 
plation of  marriage  as  a  stimulus  he  tried  to  save, 
with  the  idea  of  bringing  nearer  the  happy  day. 
But  the  capricious  Eva  was  firm  in  her  demands 
for  entertainment;  therefore,  the  lad  accumu- 
lated little.  For  lack  of  something  better  he 
stuck  to  his  job  on  the  street  cars. 

There  were  innumerable  petty  disputes  and 
one  or  two  explosive  quarrels.  Vick  could  not 


The  Way  of  a  Woman          137 

think  of  a  happier  manner  of  spending  an  even- 
ing than  to  sit  beside  Eva  on  the  couch  in  the 
garish  parlor.  But  uptown  the  night  crowds 
lured  the  girl.  Quiet  evenings  at  home  were  dis- 
tinctly not  her  idea  of  a  good  time.  She  liked 
best  the  crowded  places  where  her  beauty  won 
the  bold,  admiring  glances  of  many  men.  Vick 
stormed,  but  Eva  had  her  way. 

And  then  there  was  Dill.  Vick  never  suc- 
ceeded in  wholly  eliminating  him.  Dill,  too, 
worked  on  the  cars  and  usually  dropped  in  to 
see  Eva  on  those  nights  when  Vick  had  to  work. 
At  first  Vick  was  furious  arid  it  required  all 
Eva's  wiles  to  cajole  him  into  good  humor.  She 
protested  most  solemnly  that  Dill  was  nothing 
to  her  and  that  he  called  as  a  friend  of  the  fam- 
ily. Vick  was  not  satisfied,  but  Dill  continued 
his  haphazard  visits  and,  as  Eva  carefully 
explained,  would  not  be  driven  away,  however 
curt  the  invitation  to  go.  Vick  came  to  believe 
that  Dill  was  extraordinarily  thick-skinned. 

But  Eva's  vanity  required  an  admirer  always 
at  her  feet.  To  herself  she  said  that  Vick  must 
defend  his  own  interests.  Night  runs,  and  drills 
at  the  army  left  her  many  an  evening  free ;  that 
is,  free  of  Vick.  Sometimes  those  evenings  were 
rather  a  relief. 


138  Saturday  Nights 

An  evening  of  early  spring  found  Vick  with 
Eva.  The  windows  of  the  parlor  were  open 
and,  though  a  discordant  rumble  arose  from  the 
street,  the  invigorating  air  strove  to  banish  the 
musty  closeness  of  the  winter  that  was  gone. 

For  a  week  Vick  had  worked  a  noon  to  mid- 
night run  and  in  the  interval,  that  seemed  age- 
long to  the  lover,  he  had  not  luxuriated  for  the 
briefest  moment  in  his  lady's  smile.  But  the  lad 
had  reason  to  suspect  that  the  evenings  had  not 
been  terribly  boresome  to  Eva;  Dill  had  called 
with  suspicious  frequency  upon  the  Wann  fam- 
ily while  Vick  stamped  impatient  feet  on  the 
rear  platform  of  a  jouncing  street  car.  There- 
fore, Vick  was  not  excessively  happy,  though  he 
could  not  complain  of  the  warmth  of  the  girl's 
greeting.  Now,  as  they  sat  upon  the  couch  Eva 
commented  with  elaborate  carelessness: 

"Vick,  I  hear  the  car  men've  organized  a 
union." 

*  You  heard  right,"  was  the  short  reply. 

"I  s'pose  so,"  she  returned  easily.  "I  gen- 
'rally  do.  Hawley  Dill  says  things  are  rotten 
an*  gettin'  worse  all  the  time." 

On  general  principles  Vick  hated  to  agree  with 
Dill,  but  he  could  not  deny  that  Eva's  informa- 
tion was  true. 


The  Way  of  a  Woman          139 

"  Things  are  rotten,"  he  admitted. 

"What're  the  men  goin'  to  do  'bout  it?" 

"  Somethin's  got  to  be  done.  Twelve  hours  a 
day,  an'  Sundays,  an'  just  'nough  wages  to  live 
on — that  is,  if  you're  honest.  Some  ain't." 

"Meanin'  Dill,  I  reggon,"  Eva  said  sweetly. 
"  Well,  all  I  got  to  say  is  he's  smart  'nough  to 
get  a  decent  livin'.  You  ain't." 

"Smart!"  Vick  retorted  with  heat.  "Any- 
body can  steal!" 

"  Some  gets  caught,"  she  laughingly  retaliated. 

"Aw,  it  ain't  such  a  great  stunt  gettin'  money 
—  if  you  don't  care  how  you  get  it." 

"What  Hawley  Dill  does  ain't  stealm',"  Eva 
retorted.  "I  don't  call  it  that.  The  comp'ny 
owes  eve'y  man  a  livin'  and  it's  up  to  'em  to 
get  it." 

"It  is  their  fault  in  a  way,"  Vick  admitted. 
"They  ought  to  make  the  men's  wages  large 
'nough  for  'em  to  live  on." 

"I'm  glad  you  got  a  union,  anyhow.  Maybe 
now  you  can  make  'em  do  better  by  you.  'Course 
you  joined,  Vick." 

"I  joined.    What  d'you  think  I  am?" 

"  I  knew  you  would." 

"  Nothin'  else  for  me  to  do.  The  comp'ny  ain't 
treatin'  us  right.  Times  are  hard  an'  a  fellow 


140  Saturday  Mghts 

can't  quit  an'  pick  up  a  job  eve'y  day.  The 
bosses  know  it  an'  they're  treatin'  us  like  slaves. 
They  fine  us  for  the  least  thing." 

"  Dill  says  the  union'll  give  the  men  the  upper 
hand." 

"  I  ain't  so  sure  'bout  that."  Vick  was  bound 
to  be  honest.  "  Maybe  it  will  an'  maybe  it 
won't." 

"Dill  says  there's  always  one  thing,  one  club 
the  men  have." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Strike." 

Vick  groaned.  "Eva,  that's  the  worst  thing 
we  could  do,  strike ;  'less  things  get  down  to  real 
starvation.  Then  it  might  do  some  good.  Any 
other  time  a  strike '11  hurt  us  more'n  the 
comp'ny." 

"  Dill  says  —  " 

"That's  all  I  been  hearin'  since  I  got  here. 
Dill  says!"  Vick  interrupted.  "He  must  have 
been  talkin'  to  you  all  week ! " 

"No,  he  ain't  been  talkin'  to  me  all  week," 
Eva  replied  coldly. 

"That  crook  is  a  born  anarchist,  Eva.  He's 
forever  lookin'  for  a  pot  of  trouble,  so  he  can  put 
his  little  stick  in  it  an'  stir  it.  The  more  row  it 
makes  the  better  he  likes  it." 


The  Way  of  a  Woman 

"He's  nervy  'nough  to  stand  up  for  his 
rights!" 

"He  ain't  nervy  'nough  to  do  nothin'  on  the 
level.  He  ain't  much  of  a  man ;  he's  a  sneak ! " 

"He's  man  'nough  to  fight  for  what  he 
wants." 

"There  are  ways  an'  ways  to  get  what's 
comin'  to  you,  an'  strikes  ain't  always  the  best 
way.  I'm  a  workin'  man  an'  I  b'lieve  in  the 
rights  of  workin'  men,  but  I  try  to  think.  I 
read.  Strikes  hurt  the  workers  most,  even  when 
they  seem  to  win.  Dill's  got  a  gang  together, 
fellers  just  like  him.  They're  goin'  to  ask  the 
comp'ny  for  the  world  an'  a  white-washed  fence 
'round  it.  If  they  don't  get  eve'ything  right 
away  they're  goin'  to  try  an'  start  a  strike." 

"  They  ain't  askin'  for  a  thing  but  what  they 
ought  to  have." 

"You  know  'bout  that,  too,  hey?  I'm  tellin* 
you,  Eva,  Dill  is  a  wrecker.  He  wants  to  have 
his  way  or  bust  everything  to  pieces.  To  get  any- 
thing for  us  men  the  union  ought  to  feel  its  way 
'long  easy-like  an'  take  things  gradual.  That 
way  they'll  get  somethin'." 

By  nature  Eva  was  a  militant  rebel  and  Vick's 
conservatism  made  no  appeal  to  her.  Her  brain 
was  full  of  Dill's  fiery  theories  of  force. 


142  Saturday  Nights 

"I  b'lieve  like  Dill,"  she  stated  positively. 
"If  the  comp'ny  won't  give  the  men  what  they 
want — what  they  ought  to  have  —  show  'em  that 
you  ain't  beggin'  dogs.  Show  'em  you're  human 
bein's.  I  hope  they  do  strike — an'  quick!" 

"I  don't,"  Vick  insisted.  "Not  yet;  not  till 
we  try  peaceful  ways.  First  we  ought  to  see 
what  we  can  get  by  bargainin'." 

"You  can't  bargain!"  Eva  triumphantly  an- 
nounced. "They  ain't  goin'  to  deal  with  the 
union.  For  'em  the  union  ain't." 

"  You  seem  to  know  more  'bout  it  than  I  do," 
angrily. 

"  I  know  a  plenty." 

"Do  you  really  want  to  see  a  strike,  Eva?" 

Her  eyes  flashed  as  she  answered.  "  I  cert'ny 
do.  I  say  the  men's  got  to  strike  if  the  comp'ny 
don't  give  in ! " 

"But,  girl,"  tenderly,  "that'll  mean  our  mar- 
riage is  put  off  longer." 

Yearningly,  Vick  placed  an  arm  about  her 
slender  shoulders.  She  thrust  it  away,  angrily 
impatient,  and  jumped  to  her  feet. 

"  I  don't  care ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  If  you  ain't 
man  'nough  to  stand  up  for  your  rights  we  never 
will  get  married ! " 


Chapter  12 
WHEN  BURLEYTON  WALKED 

At  noon  of  the  second  day  after  his  argument 
with  Eva,  Vick,  obeying  instructions  of  officials 
of  the  union,  ran  his  car  into  the  barns  and  left 
it  there.  With  scores  of  other  men,  sullen  of 
feature,  he  walked  out.  The  strike  was  on. 

That  day  gave  the  city  its  first  taste  of  riot- 
ing. The  Heights  viewed  the  outbreak  with  a 
sour  face,  indicating  exceeding  distaste;  Tobacco 
Flats,  in  the  beginning  zestfully  curious,  hoped 
frankly  for  free  and  more  sustained  entertain- 
ment ;  while  from  the  first  Little  Hell  roared  its 
vociferous  approval. 

An  unimportant  percentage  of  the  car  men, 
fearful  of  wageless  weeks  or  seeking  favor, 
remained  at  their  posts,  and  the  officials  of  .the 
railway  company  with  that  remnant  of  their 
organization,  a  remnant  which  rapidly  dimin- 
ished, endeavored  to  maintain  a  haphazard 
schedule. 

None  of  the  hapless  crews  made  more  than 

143 


144  Saturday  Nights 

one  trip.  On  The  Heights  they  were  not  dis- 
turbed. Through  the  streets  of  Tobacco  Flats 
they  merely  ran  a  gantlet  of  taunts  and  invec- 
tive. Abuse  the  men  might  have  withstood,  but 
in  the  lower  end  of  the  city,  rounding  the  loop 
through  Little  Hell,  they  got  a  taste  of  battle. 
There  they  were  bombarded  with  stones  and 
other  handy  missiles  till  the  cars,  one  by  one, 
lurched  all  but  dismantled  into  the  barns.  That 
night  the  tie-up  was  complete. 

Then,  perforce,  Burleyton  walked. 

Rioting  continued  spasmodically  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  creek  that  edged  the  railway  property. 
The  next  day  saw  the  advent  of  professional 
strike  breakers.  Downtown  a  rumor  persisted 
that  the  railway  company  had  demanded  protec- 
tion of  the  State;  also,  that  the  Governor  was 
considering  the  advisability  of  calling  out  the 
Guards. 

Sarah  did  not  go  to  work.  She  appeared  to 
sense  disaster  in  the  strike  and  worried  over 
Vick.  Little  Katie  had  spent  a  rather  feverish 
night  and,  though  Mrs.  Cooper  was  thoroughly 
trustworthy,  the  mother  felt  that  she  herself,  for 
a  day  at  least,  should  attend  to  the  child.  Truth 
to  tell,  Sarah  was  spiritless  and  was  not  equal  to 
the  monotonous  grind  at  Winter's. 


When  Burleyton  Walked        145 

"You  just  got  the  blues,  Sary,"  Mrs. 
Cooper  smilingly  assured  her. 

"Maybe  so,"  Sarah  listlessly  returned,  "but  I 
feel  like  somethin'  bad  is  goin'  to  happen." 

At  noon  she  was  in  the  kitchen  warming  up  a 
lunch.  Katie  was  asleep  and  Vick  would  not  be 
home  for  the  mid-day  meal.  Busy  at  the  stove 
the  girl  heard  the  tread  of  heavy  feet  on  the 
landing  outside  and  she  faced  the  door. 

Ja&per  Timmons  shambled  in.  Sarah  twisted 
her  fingers  and  gasped  in  the  misery  of  her 
surprise. 

"  You  needn't  look  so  hard,"  the  man  sneered. 
"  It's  your  husband,  all  right,  Missus  Timmons." 

Brutal  of  feature  as  ever  he  was  and  meaner 
of  aspect.  The  scraggly  promise  of  a  beard 
darkened  his  face.  Sweaty  hair,  lank  and  un- 
combed, stuck  to  his  frowning  forehead  as  he 
tossed  a  battered  hat  into  a  corner  and  deliber- 
ately selected  a  chair.  He  was  much  at  home. 
His  little  red-flecked  eyes  measured  the  woman 
before  him.  None  of  that  rounded  comeliness 
had  been  hers  the  day  he  left.  He  moistened 
his  lips. 

"  I'm  back,"  he  stated. 

"  I  see  you  are  " — dully. 

"  To  stay,"  the  man  went  on,  punishing  her. 


146  Saturday  Nights 

"In  —  in  Burleyton?"  she  faltered. 

"  Cert'ny  in  Burleyton.  I've  come  back  to  my 
fambly,"  Timmons  assured  her. 

Sarah  shuddered.  In  the  past  few  weeks  she 
had  come  to  realize  that  she  was  much  in  love 
with  the  gentle-mannered  Lynn.  And  she  was 
certain  only  that  a  vague  fear  that  Timmons  was 
still  living  had  kept  the  lover  from  speaking  of 
that  which  was  in  his  own  heart.  She  had  been 
— was  —  quite  willing  to  become  Sarah  Lynn. 

Of  course,  she  had  considered  divorce,  yet  the 
rumor  of  Timmons'  death  had  impressed  the  girl. 
She  had  wanted  to  believe  the  man  was  dead. 
She  had  flinched  from  the  course  of  divorce. 
There  had  been  Katie  to  consider.  After  all, 
Timmons  was  her  father. 

And  now  here  the  man  sat,  in  all  his  ugliness, 
ruthlessly  shattering  dreams  in  which  he  owned 
no  place. 

"We  don't  want  you  back,"  Sarah  told  him, 
striving  to  keep  alarm  from  her  voice.  "  You  left 
us  when  we  most  needed  you,  an'  now  you've 
come  back  when  we  don't  need  you  or  want  you. 
I  had  all  but  forgot  you;  I  put  you  out  of  my 
mind  long  ago.  .You  ain't  got  no  place  in  my 
life." 

"I  ain't?"  Timmons  leered.    "I'm  still  your 


When  Burleyton  Walked        147 

husband,  ain't  I?  I'm  willin'  to  take  keer  of 
you  an'  the  child.  How  you  goin'  to  keep  me 
from  doin'  it?" 

"  We  don't  want  you  hack." 

"Aw,  you  can't  fool  Jasper;  you  just  heen 
hopin*  I'd  come  back,  ain't  you?"  He  was  en- 
joying himself  immensely.  "  If  you  hadn't  been 
waitin'  for  me  all  this  time  you  would  have  got 
a  divorce  by  now." 

Sarah  eyed  him  with  disgust. 

"  Divorces  cost  money." 

"You  could  have  got  somebody  to  pay  the 
price  for  you.  How  'bout  my  friend  Lynn?" 
The  man  winked  significantly. 

"You  leave  him  out  of  this.  Mr.  Lynn  is  a 
gentleman." 

"Meanin'  I  ain't?"  Timmons  suggested, 
flaring. 

Sarah  would  not  answer. 

"Anyhow,  I'm  back,"  he  continued.  "I'm 
makin'  good  money  an'  I'm  able  to  take  keer  of 
you.  I  wanter  do  it,  too  —  for  a  while."  He 
laughed  brutally.  "I'm  your  husband  an'  the 
law  says  you  got  to  live  with  me." 

;' You  left  me  once,"  Sarah  said  firmly,  white 
and  tight  of  lip.  "  You'll  never  get  the  chance 
to  do  me  dirt  again,  law  or  no  law." 


148  Saturday  Nights 

Katie,  barefooted,  toddled  into  the  kitchen, 
digging  pink  knuckles  into  sleepy  eyes. 

"  So  that's  the  little  one?"  Timmons  jocularly 
observed,  surveying  the  child  with  interest. 
"Little  Sarah?" 

"Katie,"  Sarah  coldly  corrected. 

"  Katie,  then,"  Timmons  said.  "  It  don't  make 
no  diffrunce  to  me  but  you  remember  I  used  to 
think  one  time  that  Sarah  was  a  mighty  purty 
name,  an'  I  thought  you  might  have  named  her 
that  just  to  please  me."  He  grinned  maliciously. 
"  She's  a  good-lookin'  kid,  if  I  do  say  it  that 
shouldn't.  Come  here,  Katie,  an'  talk  to  your 
popper." 

The  child  turned,  looked  again  at  the  visitor, 
and  ran  to  her  mother.  Timmons  chuckled 
gleefully. 

"  Skeered  of  her  own  father,"  he  jeered. 

"Why  shouldn't  she  be?"  Sarah  asked  quietly. 

"  She'll  soon  get  used  to  me,"  complacently. 

"  She'll  never  get  used  to  you,"  Sarah  retorted. 
"  You  ain't  comin'  with  us ! " 

'You  got  it  wrong;  I  cert'ny  am."  The  man 
glanced  at  the  clock  on  the  table.  "Right  now 
I  got  to  go.  I  got  to  get  back  on  the  job.  The 
chief  let  me  off  for  a  little,  bein'  as  this  was  my 
home  burg.  Do  you  know  what  I'm  doin'  ?  " 


"I  don't  want  to  know!" 
"You  ain't  got  to,  just  so  it  brings  the  coin 
in.     I'm  comin'   back.     You  can  be   watchin' 

for  me." 

****** 

Vick  divided  his  time  between  Gallopin'  Dick's 
and  strike  headquarters  in  a  hall  near-by.  When 
he  reached  home  in  the  late  afternoon  Mrs. 
Cooper  met  him  on  the  front  porch  and  handed 
him  a  card  countersigned  by  his  Guard  com- 
pany commander,  ordering  him  to  hold  himself 
in  readiness  for  an  emergency,  and  in  any  event 
to  report  the  following  morning  at  the  armory. 

Upstairs,  Sarah  disconsolately  told  him  of 
her  unwelcome  visitor. 

"He  can't  come  here!"  Vick  protested. 

"He  says  he  is  comin',"  Sarah  replied  help- 
lessly. 

"Aw,  don't  you  worry,  Sis,"  Vick  assured  her. 
"  I'll  see  that  he  don't.  I'll  throw  the  brute  out 
if  I  ever  catch  him  in  here.  He'll  find  out 
mighty  quick  that  I  ain't  the  kid  he  slapped 
'round  the  place  the  day  he  left  you.  Don't 
you  worry,  Sis." 

"He  might  hurt  you,  Vick." 

"Who?  Me?  You  let  me  worry  'bout  that 
If  I  ain't  'fraid  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be. 


150  Saturday  Nights 

I  don't  b'lieve  he'll  try  to  come  here,  anyhow. 
He's  bluffin'.  He  wants  to  skeer  you.  Don't 
you  let  him." 

"  He  talked  like  he  meant  it." 

"Did  Mrs.  Cooper  see  him?" 

"No.     She  was  down  to  the  store." 

"Did  you  tell  her  he'd  been  here?" 

"Yes.  She  says  he  can't  come  in  her  house." 
Sarah  could  not  repress  a  smile  at  the  memory 
of  the  irascible  old  woman. 

"  That  settles  it,  then.  If  he  tries  to  get  up  'em 
stairs  she'll  murder  him  with  that  cane  of  hers. 
Timmons  always  was  more'n  half  skeered  of 
Mrs.  Cooper." 

After  supper  Vick  sought  Shad  at  the  saloon. 
That  lad  was  a  picture  of  gloom.  He,  too,  had 
received  a  Guard  summons  and  was  certain  that 
trouble  was  brewing. 

"Vick,"  he  exclaimed,  "  'em  gangs  outer  Little 
Hell  ain't  goin'  to  be  satisfied  till  some  of  'em's 
been  shot  up  good  an'  proper.  An'  it's  us 
Guards  what's  got  to  do  the  shootinV 

"It  ain't  the  car  men  that's  stirrin*  up  the 
trouble,  it's  'em  hoodlums,"  Vick  answered  in 
disgust. 

"I  know  one  car  man  what's  in  it  up  to  the 
neck." 


When  Burleyton  Walked        151 

"Dill,  hey?  That  roughneck  would  burn 
down  the  barns  if  he  got  a  chance." 

"I  reggon  he  would." 

"  It's  him  an'  a  few  others  stirrin'  up  the  gangs 
outer  Little  Hell  that's  keepin'  things  boilin'." 

"Dill's  goin'  to  cause  more  trouble,  too,  if 
somebody  don't  cage  him,"  Shad  prophesied. 

"  He's  hard  to  catch,  Shad.    He's  tricky." 

"  What's  Eva  say  'bout  you  goin'  out  with  the 
Guards?"  Shad  inquired,  frankly  curious. 

"Ain't  seen  her  yet,"  Vick  dejectedly  replied. 
"  I'm  goin'  down  there  now.  .  .  .  She'll  be 
as  sore  as  a  stumped  toe." 

Shad  grinned. 

"  'Tain't  nothin'  to  laugh  at,  Shad,"  Vick  re- 
marked. "Here  I'm  strikin'  an'  by  to-morrow, 
anyhow,  I  got  to  go  out  with  the  Guards  an' 
help  the  street  car  comp'ny,  in  a  way,  to  beat  my 
own  people.  I  didn't  want  to  see  no  riotin', 
Shad;  I  wanted  us  to  win  in  a  peaceful  way." 

The  lad  was  visibly  harassed.  He  left  the 
saloon  and  walked  slowly  to  Eva's  home.  He 
planned  to  explain  the  involved  situation  to  her. 
He  would  seek  her  sympathy.  She,  at  least, 
should  understand. 

The  girl  was  expecting  him. 

"  Eva,  I'm  in  a  mess,"  Vick  said,  immediately 


152  Saturday  Nights 

broaching  the  painful  subject.  ''The  Guards 
are  goin'  out  in  the  mornin'." 

Eva  was  silent. 

"  If  I  ain't  in  a  place  to  be  misunderstood  by 
eve'ybody  then  there  ain't  no  such  place,  that's 
all." 

"What  if  the  Guards  do  go  out?  What's 
that  got  to  do  with  you?"  Eva  demanded. 

"I'm  one  of  'em,  ain't  I?" 

"  You  b'long  to  the  union." 

"An*  I  also  an'  moreover  b'long  to  the 
Guards." 

"You  ain't  goin'  out  with  'em,  are  you, 
Vick?' 

"I  got  to.'  ' 

"You  ain't!" 

"How  can  I  get  outer  it?  That's  what  I 
wanter  to  know." 

"I  don't  exactly  know,  but  if  I  got  anything 
to  say  'bout  it  you  ain't  goin'  to  help  the  car 
comp'ny;  you  ain't  goin'  'gainst  your  own 
folks!" 

"Aw,  Eva." 

"Listen  here,  Vick."  The  girl's  voice  was 
hard.  ;<  You're  a  workin'  man  an'  the  car  men 
are  your  workin'  brothers.  How  can  you  have 
the  nerve  to  take  a  gun  an'  help  beat  'em  in  a 


When  Burleyton  Walked        153 

fight  like  this  here,  your  own  fight?  Don't  you 
want  to  win  the  strike?" 

"Sure  I  do,"  Vick  insisted.  "The  Guards 
ain't  goin'  to  take  sides,  Eva.  They're  goin'  to 
protect  property,  to  keep  the  rioters  from 
burnin'  the  barns  an'  things  like  that.  The 
union  don't  stand  for  crime.  The  Guard'll  be 
the  law,  same  as  policemen.  Don't  you  under- 
stand?" 

"I  understand  this  much.  If  you  go  out 
with  'em  imitation  soldiers  you  go  'gainst  the 
union.  Eve'ybody'll  think  so  an'  you'd  just 
as  well  be  so." 

"But  I'm  in  the  Guards,  swore  in,"  Vick 
protested.  "If  I  wasn't  I  wouldn't  join  'em 
now.  But  bein'  as  I'm  in  I  got  to  stay  in  an' 
obey  orders." 

"You  ain't  got  to,"  Eva  persisted. 

"How  can  I  keep  outer  it?  I'd  give  a  leg  to 
know.  It's  sure  got  me  worried,  Eva." 

"All  you  got  to  do  is  to  stay  'way  from  the 
armory  in  the  mornin'.  Don't  show  up." 

"They'd  send  a  squad  after  me  the  first 
thing." 

"Hide,  then,  an'  keep  in  hidin'  till  after  the 
trouble  has  bio  wed  over." 

Vick's  back  stiffened.     "I  couldn't  do  that, 


154  Saturday  Nights 

girl.  You  ought  to  be  the  last  one  to  ask  me  to. 
I  ain't  a  sneak." 

"Dill  says—" 

Wrath  reddened  the  lad's  face.  "Eva,"  he 
roughly  interrupted,  "don't  drag  the  name  of 
that  bum  into  our  talk.  That's  one  thing  I  ain't 
goin'  to  stand  for.  We  can  straighten  out  our 
squabbles  'thout  no  help  from  him.  He's  mainly 
the  cause  of  this  here  strike — " 

"He's  proud  of  it!" 

"An*  the  cause  of  a  whole  lot  of  the  riotin*. 
If  it  wasn't  for  him  an'  his  friends  from  over  in 
Little  Hell  the  Guards  wouldn't  have  to  get 
into  this  here  bus'ness  a-tall." 

"He  hates  the  comp'ny  an'  all  that  b'longs 
to  it," 

"  I  know  he  does.  An'  he  hates  eve'ything  an* 
eve'ybody  that  amounts  to  somethin'.  An*  his 
hate  is  more'n  liable  to  lose  us  the  strike." 

"Anyhow,  you  oughtn't  to  fight  'gainst  your 
own  brothers,  your  own  fellojv  workers." 

"I  ain't,"  Vick  promptly  denied.  "I'm  goin' 
to  fight  'gainst  the  rioters.  An'  I  know  that 
none  of  the  car  men  are  doin'  it,  'cept  Dill  an* 
maybe  two-three  more  scums  like  him." 

"If  you  had  the  nerve  you'd  be  helpin'  him 
'stead  of  knockin'  him,"  Eva  coldly  commented. 


When  Burleyton  Walked        155 

"  Eva,  you  don't  b'lieve  really  in  riotin'?  If  it 
keeps  up  there's  likely  to  be  some  killinV 

"I  don't  care!"  she  snapped.  "I  b'lieve  in 
anything  that'll  beat  the  car  comp'ny!" 

"Aw,"  Vick  muttered  in  his  vexation,  "your 
head  is  is  crammed  full  of  Dill's  crazy  talk." 

Shrewdly  calculating,  the  girl  tried  new  tac- 
tics. She  threw  aside  her  repellant  manner  and 
snuggled  close  to  the  lad  on  the  couch.  She  had 
appealed  to  the  loyalty  she  knew  he  held  for  his 
fellow  workers  and  that  had  failed,  now  she  tried 
other  methods. 

"  \Tck,  you  love  me,  don't  you  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"You  don't  have  to  ask  me  that,"  he  gravely 
answered,  sensing  something  of  what  was  coming. 

"You  still  want  me  to  marry  you?" 

"  More'n  anything  eke." 

"If  you'd  leave  your  own  folks  in  this  here 
trouble  I'd  be  'shamed  of  you.  Could  I  marry 
you  then?" 

"But,  Eva—" 

"Could  I?"  she  relentlessly  insisted.  "Could 
I  marry  you  if  I  was  'shamed  of  you?" 

"I  reggon  not  —  if  you  was  'shamed  of  me." 

;<  You  know  I  couldn't,  Vick.  I  couldn't  even 
think  of  it.  Eve'vbodv  we  knew  would  be  down 

•  % 

on  vou." 


156  Saturday  Nights 

"Aw,  Eva,  if  you  could  just  see  things  like  I 
see  'em.  I  sure  need  your  understanding  girl." 

"Vick,"  she  said  as  if  on  impulse,  "if  you 
stick  to  the  union,  if  you  stay  'way  from  'em 
soldiers,  I'll  marry  you  any  time  you  say.  I'll 
marry  you  to-morrow  if  you'll  promise." 

The  lad  was  surprised  into  bewilderment. 
"You,  you'd  marry  me  to-morrow?" 

"To-morrow." 

"But  I  ain't  got  nothin'.  We'd  need  more 
money  to  live  on  than  I've  got." 

"  It  don't  make  no  diffrunce,  Vick.  I'm  will- 
ing to  work  for  what  I  need  till  you  get  on  your 
feet." 

Vick  was  not  of  iron.    "  Eva ! "  he  whispered. 

He  stared  dumbly  ahead,  lids  half  closed, 
motionless,  and  struggled  with  desperate  fierce- 
ness to  control  himself.  The  girl,  her  head 
against  his  shoulder,  her  silken  hair  caressing 
his  cheek,  seductively  appealing,  confidently 
awaited  his  answer.  At  last  he  sighed  his 
renunciation  and  broke  the  silence. 

"I  can't,"  he  said. 

The  smile  that  had  softened  her  face  vanished 
and  she  jerked  upright,  her  features  hard. 

"Can't  what?"  she  demanded. 

"Can't  decide,"  Vick  evaded  wretchedly. 


When  Burleyton  Walked        157 

She  jumped  to  her  feet,  storming. 

"You  can't  decide?"  she  taunted  him.  "An* 
all  your  talk  of  love  —  what  of  that?  Don't  you 
want  me?" 

"More'n  anything!" 

" Then  why  don't  you  take  me?" 

"I  want  to,  Eva,  but  there's  somethin'  inside 
me,  somethin'  I  can't  explain  to  you,  that  won't 
let  me  be  a  sneak.  To  run  an'  hide — it  ain't  in 
my  blood!  I'd  be  disgraced.  The  men  of  the 
Guards  —  I  got  their  respect  an*  I  want  to 
keep  it." 

"  What  do  I  care  'bout  'em? "  she  raged.  "  It 
all  comes  down  to  that,  me  or  the  soldiers. 
Whichever  way  you  want  the  most;  make  up 
your  mind!" 

"Looks  like  I  can't,"  Vick  muttered  de- 
jectedly. "I'm  pulled  this  way  an'  that.  Gawd 
knows  I  want  you,  Eva,  but  it  ain't  in  me  to 
hide,  to  be  a  sneak.  I  got  to  face  this  tangle. 
I  can't  dodge  it  by  runnin'.  If  I  did,  even  if 
I  had  you,  it'd  worry  me  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"I  ain't  got  no  more  to  say."  She  was  the- 
atrically contemptuous.  "I've  spoke  my  piece. 
If  you  go  with  the  soldiers  you're  done  with  me. 
I'll  never  have  no  more  use  for  you." 

Vick  was  silent. 


Saturday  Nights 

"You'd  better  go  now,"  the  girl  continued 
harshly.  "When  the  soldiers  come  past  to- 
morrow I'll  be  here.  I'll  see  'em.  An'  if  you're 
with  'em  .  .  ." 

Vick  rose,  heavy  of  mind  and  body. 

"'Nother  thing.  Hawley  Dill's  been  after 
me  a  long  time.  You  ain't  the  only  one.  He 
wants  to  marry  me,  too.  Maybe  he's  not  such 
a  pretty  boy  but  he's  a  man  what's  loyal." 

Vick  winced.  With  no  word  of  parting  Eva 
let  him  go.  And  well  into  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning  he  walked  the  streets  in  an  agony 
of  indecision,  first  swayed  by  his  mad  love  for 
Eva,  then  under  the  compelling  influence  of  a 
battling  conscience  that  bade  him  retain  his 
self-respect. 


Chapter  13 
THE  DECISION  OF  VICK 

Vick  mechanically  opened  his  locker.  His  face 
was  haggard,  proclaiming  his  need  of  rest.  His 
thoughts  were  not  of  soldiering  but  of  a  girl  in 
a  tawdry  parlor.  The  lad  absent-mindedly 
nodded  to  Shad  who,  sturdy  in  his  khaki,  stood 
at  ease  within  hearing. 

"  So  you're  here,  after  all,"  Shad  commented. 
"Thought  you  was  goin'  to  pass  us  up." 

"I  had  to  come,  Shad.  But  'tween  Eva  an' 
this  here  bus'ness  I'm  'bout  half  nutty." 

"  I  thought  she'd  try  an'  keep  you  back." 

"  She  did." 

"There  ain't  no  meddlin'  girl  what  can  tell  me 
to  do  this  or  that,"  Shad  boastfully  remarked. 

"I  had  a  bad  night  of  it,  Shad.  But  I  de- 
cided an'  here  I  am." 

"At  the  last  minute,"  Shad  pointed  out. 

"It's  a  wonder  I'm  here  a-tall.  I  couldn't 
make  up  my  mind  till  the  last  minute,  if  you 
want  to  know." 

Decisively    Vick    jerked    his    belt    a    notch 

159 


160  Saturday  Nights 

tighter,  snapped  the  buckle,  and  turned  again 
to  Shad,  who  grasped  his  rifle,  ready  to  descend 
to  the  drill  room. 

"Aw,  I  never  thought  'twould  come  to  this." 
He  viciously  slapped  his  hat  upon  his  head. 
"  Was  a  man  ever  in  such  a  devil  of  a  fix?  The 
fellows  I  worked  with'll  think  I'm  dead  'gainst 
'em."  The  door  of  the  locker  slammed  shut. 
"They  ain't  goin'  to  understand;  they  ain't 
goin'  to  look  at  both  sides  like  me." 

The  last  of  the  late  arrivals  ran  down  the 
stairs.  Below  could  be  heard  the  barking 
commands  of  the  officers. 

"Come  on.  We'd  better  get  down,"  Shad 
admonished. 

The  chums  fell  in  with  the  company  line  and 
Captain  Gregg,  with  physique  and  bearing  of  a 
commander,  examined  with  critical  eyes  the 
dressed  ranks.  Units  of  the  battalion  were  to 
be  stationed  at  various  strategic  points  of  the 
city.  To  the  lot  of  B  Company  fell  the  car 
barns,  where  the  strike  breakers  were  quartered. 

The  previous  evening  the  railway  officials  had 
once  more  tried  to  operate  their  cars,  but  with 
no  success.  Again  and  again  had  they  been 
driven  back  to  the  barns.  By  now  the  city  was 
seething.  Tobacco  Fiats  was  as  wildly  clamor- 


The  Decision  of  Vick  161 

ous  as  Little  Hell.  On  Main  Street  in  the 
factory  section  a  car  had  been  blocked  by  a 
human  barricade.  The  opportune  arrival  of  a 
fire  company  had  transformed  impending  trag- 
edy into  laughing  farce,  when  the  firemen  turned 
their  hose  upon  the  mob,  which  broke  and  fled, 
leaving  the  pathway  clear. 

Into  Main  Street,  lined  with  curious  spec- 
tators, B  Company  wheeled.  Here  Shad  began 
snickering  immoderately  and  Vick  forgot  his 
for-and-against  musings  for  the  instant  and 
glanced  toward  the  crowd.  There  he  saw  the 
cause  of  Shad's  mirth,  a  young  woman  of 
mountainous  proportions.  Her  quivering  cheeks, 
which  the  unusual  exertion  of  walking  had 
changed  from  baby-pink  to  scarlet,  were  inflated 
in  the  manner  of  toy  balloons;  she  gazed  with 
withering  contempt  upon  the  passing  troopers 
who  must  have  been,  from  her  viewpoint,  ranks 
of  grinning  idiots.  Pinned  upon  her  ample 
bosom  was  a  tag  which  bore  the  legend :  * '  WALK 
AND  HELP  THE  BOYS."  These  tags 
were  conspicuous;  in  fact,  everyone  seemed  to 
wear  one.  They  cost  nothing. 

The  Guards  as  they  advanced  neared  Eva's 
home.  Vick  was  absolute  in  his  tight-lipped 
determination  not  to  turn  his  head,  but  Shad's 


162  Saturday  Nights 

discreet  nudge  shattered  his  impassiveness  and 
his  eyes,  with  no  conscious  bidding,  flashed  up 
to  a  window  of  the  parlor.  Eva  was  there.  And 
Vick  knew  that  she  saw  him.  He  read  scorn  of 
himself  in  the  very  tilt  of  her  pretty  head.  The 
lad  braced  his  shoulders  more  firmly,  set  his 
jaws,  and  stonily  stared  at  the  sun-burned  neck 
in  front  of  him. 

Farther  along,  on  the  edge  of  the  creek  that 
marked  the  boundary  of  Little  Hell,  were  the 
barns,  squat,  red  and  ugly.  The  company  swept 
up  with  a  clatter  of  accoutrement,  in  their  wake 
a  throng  of  curious  idlers,  many  of  whom  had 
trailed  them  across  the  city.  A  few  minutes 
after  arrival  several  squads  were  detailed  to 
clear  the  vicinity  of  loiterers.  The  crowd  melted 
away. 

Vick  and  Shad  were  in  the  same  squad. 
Briskly  rounding  a  corner  they  advanced,  bay- 
onets fixed,  upon  a  group  of  men  and  shawl- 
wrapped  women  who  stood  blocking  the 
sidewalk. 

"Move  on,"  the  Corporal  said. 

"For  what?"  came  a  snarling  query. 

Vick  flared  crimson  as  he  recognized  Dill. 

"Orders  are  to  clear  the  streets  of  loit'rers," 
the  Corporal  crisply  returned. 


The  Decision  of  Vick  163 

Standing  close  to  Dill  Vick  espied  Eva  even 
as  she  spoke. 

"Vick  Joyce!" 

The  words  were  laden  with  scorn.  If  the  girl 
had  raised  a  hand  and  cursed  him  aloud  she 
could  not  have  hurt  him  more. 

"Aw,  Eva,"  he  said.  "If  you'd  listen  when 
I  explain — " 

She  left  Dill  and  stepped  close  to  the  point 
of  Vick's  bayonet.  Instinctively,  he  lowered  it. 
Her  eyes  snapped;  she  was  wild  with  anger. 

"You  can't  explain!"  she  cried,  passionately. 
"You  can't  explain!" 

"That  ain't  no  way  to  carry  on,"  Vick 
mumbled. 

:' You're  dead  right,  Eva,  he  can't  explain," 
Dill  interjected.  "He's  a  dirty  scab — that's 
why!" 

At  the  epithet  the  Corporal  awoke  to  his 
responsibility  and  placed  himself  between  the 
two. 

"Get  a  move  on!"  he  ordered  the  turbulent 
Dill. 

Dill  would  not  hurry.  He  insolently  surveyed 
the  speaker,  then,  swaggering  a  step  or  two,  he 
grasped  Eva's  arm. 

"Come  on,"  he  said,  leering  triumphantly  at 


Saturday  Mghts 

Vick.     "We  don't  want  to  talk  to  no  traitor." 

"Eva!"  Vick  called  impulsively,  disregarding 
the  many  eyes,  "  I'll  try  to  see  you  to-morrow." 

The  girl  disdainfully  measured  him.  Never 
had  Vick  felt  so  little. 

"I  don't  never  want  to  see  you  again,"  she 
said  with  deliberate  emphasis.  ;' You're  so  low 
down  you  hurt  my  eyes ! " 

She  went  away  with  Dill,  who  laughed  long 
and  loud. 

Later,  when  the  squad  had  returned  to  the 
barns,  Shad  in  his  tactless  way  tried  to  speak 
something  of  his  sympathy. 

"Vick,  she  sure  handed  you  a  dose." 

"Aw,  you  go  to  blazes!"  Vick  growled. 

The  officials  of  the  company  lost  little  time  in 
putting  their  new  cards  into  play.  Just  after 
noon  a  car  left  the  barns  with  a  crew  of  strike 
breakers  and  guard  of  militia.  Awed  by  the 
loaded  rifles  of  the  soldiers  even  lawless  Little 
Hell  gave  no  trouble,  save  for  shouted  epithets. 
The  strike  breakers  retaliated  with  expansive 
grins.  Apparently  the  company  was  deter- 
mined to  give  the  public  some  sort  of  service, 
though  no  passengers  ventured  to  ride. 

On  one  side  of  the  barn  the  Guards  were  "at 
home."  In  congenial  groups  they  lounged 


The  Decision  of  Vick  165 

about,  endeavoring  to  speed  the  dragging  hours. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  cavern-like  structure, 
across  the  line  of  pits,  other  groups  were  assem- 
bled, their  features  not  clearly  discernible  in  the 
gloom.  They  were  the  strike  breakers.  Adven- 
turous spirits,  they  had  temporarily  deserted 
their  places  in  other  cities  in  response  to  the  lure 
of  munificent  wages.  Hard  of  face  and  dirty 
they  were,  ready  for  any  desperate  undertaking. 

The  block  of  the  buildings  and  grounds  was 
girded  by  a  cordon  of  sentries,  a  line  no  one 
might  penetrate  without  a  pass  countersigned 
by  Captain  Gregg.  Vick,  on  a  lonely  post  at 
the  intersection  of  an  alley-like  street,  paced 
slowly  in  the  shade  of  the  barns  and  brooded 
over  the  latest  altercation  with  Eva. 

"There's  the  sneaky  mutt!" 

The  speaker  was  so  close  that  Vick  jumped. 
Sneering  at  him  was  Dill,  accompanied  by  seven 
or  eight  cronies  out  of  Little  Hell,  who  had 
been  to  the  fore  in  most  of  the  rioting. 

"Lookit  the  tin  soldier!" 

Their  taunts  and  profanity  continued  till,  en- 
couraged by  Vick's  silence,  Dill  shouted: 

"Come  on,  boys,  le's  go  on  through!  He 
ain't  got  nerve  'nough  to  shoot !  That's  '  Dirty ' 
Joyce!" 


166  Saturday  Mghts 

"Dirty  Joyce!  Dirty  Joyce!"  the  gang 
hooted. 

Vick's  temper  rose  to  the  breaking  point.  He 
had  reckoned  on  a  scene  somewhat  like  this  and 
had  sworn  to  ignore  his  tormenters.  It  was  his 
honest  desire  to  avoid  personal  contact  with  any 
striker.  He  wanted  to  stay  immersed.  He  did 
not  want  to  rise  to  the  surface  of  publicity  in 
this  boiling  pot  of  trouble. 

But  when  his  enemy  shouted  the  epithet 
which  his  crowd  derisively  echoed,  Vick's  vision 
blurred.  Unreasoning,  forgetting  his  military 
training,  he  threw  his  rifle  from  him. 

"Naw,  I  won't  shoot,  you  yelpin'  dogs!"  he 
cried  hoarsely,  threatening  with  his  fists  those  in 
the  van.  "  I'll  stop  you  with  these! " 

In  an  instant  they  were  upon  him,  those  of 
the  rear  bravely  starting  the  rush.  With  the 
fury  of  a  maddened  animal  Vick  brushed  aside 
the  cursing  men  nearest,  fighting  to  get  at  Dill. 
And  in  the  struggle  he  won  to  him,  scarcely 
heeding  the  blows  which  showered  on  his  head 
and  shoulders. 

'You  black-face'  snake!"  Vick  snarled,  and 
his  fist  landed  squarely  against  Dill's  leering 
lips  with  a  smash  that  made  his  muscles  leap  in 
exultation. 


The  Decision  of  Vick  167 

'You  lyin'  crook!"  Vick  went  down,  over- 
powered by  numbers. 

For  a  moment  the  attackers  milled  in  inde- 
cision, then  seized  suddenly  by  panic  they 
ran,  led  by  Dill,  and  vanished  into  the  mouth 
of  the  narrow  street  opposite.  Vick's  rifle  went 
with  them. 

The  lad  gained  his  feet,  unhurt  physically 
save  for  a  bruise  or  two,  but  sick  with  rage. 
The  uproar  disturbed  a  sentry  around  the  cor- 
ner, who  had  been  sleepily  leaning  against  a 
telegraph  pole.  He  ran  to  the  scene,  and 
startled  by  Vick's  disheveled  appearance,  fired 
into  the  air.  The  two  young  soldiers  were 
almost  at  once  the  center  of  a  rapidly  increasing 
group. 

To  the  questions  of  his  Corporal,  Vick  dumbly 
shook  his  head.  He  could  not  speak  as  he 
blinked  his  eyes  to  hold  back  the  tears  of  humili- 
ation. A  lane  opened  in  the  crowd  at  the 
approach  of  Captain  Gregg. 

"What's  wrong  here?"  came  the  query. 

Vick  saluted.    "  I  was  rushed,  sir." 

"How?    Who  by?" 

Vick's  thoughts  were  swift.  Though  he  was 
not  particularly  happy  in  keeping  Dill  from  the 
grasp  of  military  law,  this  was  a  personal  mat- 


168  Saturday  Nights 

ter  and  should  be  settled  in  a  personal  manner. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"Why  didn't  you  stop  them?" 

"Didn't  have  time,  sir.  They  was  on  me 
before  I  knew  it,"  Vick  answered.  He  could 
not,  to  save  his  life,  have  told  this  stern-eyed 
man  that  in  a  surge  of  unreasoning  anger  he 
'had  thrown  away  his  rifle. 

The  Captain  spoke  tersely.  "The  Guards 
have  no  room  for  a  man  who  loses  his  head  in 
a  crisis.  .  .  .  Were  you  afraid  ? " 

He  shot  the  question,  eying  Vick  closely. 

"No,  sir!"    The  answer  was  emphatic. 

"Where  is  your  rifle?" 

"They— they  took  it,  sir." 

"Corporal!"  the  officer  snapped.  "Detail  a 
man  for  this  post !  Place  Joyce  under  guard ! " 

Vick  trudged  heavily  toward  the  barns,  his 
head  low.  He  could  feel  the  eyes  of  his  fellows 

Coring  a  hot  spot  in  the  small  of  his  back. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Vick,  morose  and  spiritless  in  his  disgrace, 
moped  in  his  corner.  Darkness  came  and  with 
it  Shad,  and  the  guard  he  relieved  hastened 
away,  glad  to  be  free  of  the  monotonous  duty. 
A  ham  of  a  hand,  heavy  with  the  weight  of 
friendship,  slapped  down  on  Vick's  shoulders, 


The  Decision  of  Vick  169 

awakening  him  into  some  semblance  of  life. 

"Brace  up,  Vick,"  his  chum  said,  cheerily. 
"The  fellows  don't  think  you  was  skeered.  I 
been  listenin'  'round.  They  got  a  purty  good 
idea  why  you  didn't  use  your  rifle." 

Vick  made  no  reply. 

"Dill,  wasn't  it?"  Shad  guessed.  "Why'n 
hell  didn't  you  let  daylight  through  him,  Vick? 
.  .  .  The  rat  orter  be  croaked,"  he  added  as  a 
matter-of-fact  after-thought. 

Vick  related  the  details  in  full,  bitterly  cen- 
suring himself  for  not  retaining  his  temper. 

"But  I  couldn't  have  shot  'em,  Shad,"  he 
concluded.  "Not  over  a  thing  like  that.  I 
couldn't  shoot  an'  Dill  knew  it.  He  wouldn't 
have  took  the  least  risk  to  hisself.  An'  now 
the  Cap'n  thinks  I'm  no  good;  maybe  he  thinks 
I'm  a  coward." 

"Aw,  I  don't  reggon  he  does,"  Shad  con- 
soled. "You  got  in  bad  before  the  whole 
Comp'ny  an'  he  had  to  take  some  notice  of  it." 

"Anyhow,"  Vick  stated  positively,  "I've 
made  up  my  mind  to  one  thing.  Before  this 
here  mix-up  I  promised  myself  that  I'd  keep 
out  of  any  big  doin's  that  might  come  up.  In 
this  here  mess  I  wanted  to  keep  unnoticed  as 
much  as  I  could.  But  now,  now  I  got  to  prove 


Saturday  Mghts 

myself.  The  first  big  thing  that  comes  my  way 
I'm  going  to  take  a  chance  at  it.  I  got  to." 

:<Yep,  you  got  to,"  Shad  gravely  agreed. 

"So  far,  there  ain't  but  one  consolation  for 
me  in  the  whole  bus'ness,"  Vick  continued.  "I 
bet  I  mashed  that  ugly  curl  all  over  Dill's  mouth 
before  they  did  keel  me  over." 

"That  ought  to  help  some,"  Shad  grinned. 

"But  I  ain't  satisfied;  they  still  got  my  rifle. 
I  been  thinkin',  Shad.  Now  listen,"  very  earn- 
estly, "I  got  to  get  that  rifle.  If  I  could  steal 
out  of  here  for  an  hour  or  two  I'd  have  it  with 
me  when  I  got  back." 

'You  want  to  get  the  pair  of  us  shot  or 
somethin'?"  Shad  politely  inquired. 

"  Aw,  this  ain't  no  time  for  kiddin'." 

"Aw,  'taint  no  time  for  stealin'  outer  here, 
either.  You'd  never  make  it,  Vick." 

"I  got  to  get  that  rifle  back,"  stubbornly. 

"Tell  it  to  the  Cap'n,"  Shad  suggested. 
"  He's  square.  He'll  know  exactly  how  you  feel 
'bout  it.  How  'bout  me  askin'  him  to  come  over 
here  for  a  talk?" 

Vick  considered.  "You  got  it  right,  Shad, 
for  once  in  your  life.  See  if  you  can  get  him 
over  here  for  a  minute." 

Shad   hastened   away   and    shortly   returned 


The  Decision  of  Vick  171 

with  Captain  Gregg.     The  officer  listened  in 
sympathetic  silence. 

At  liberty  for  the  night  Vick  hurried  from 
the  barns  and  at  once  sought  the  lights  of  Main 
Street.  Not  far  from  Gallopin'  Dick's  he 
stopped  for  a  moment  in  a  drug  store,  then 
trudged  up  Yarder  Street  to  his  home. 

Sarah  and  Katie  happened  to  be  out.  In  the 
kitchen  Vick  knelt  before  his  cot  and  dragged 
from  beneath  it  an  old  soap  box.  Into  the 
accumulated  rubbish  of  years  he  plunged  and 
at  last  found  that  which  'he  had  come  for. 

Hesba  heard  him  when  he  descended  the  stairs 
and  she  ran  into  the  lower  hall.  At  the  grim- 
ness  of  his  face  she  stopped  involuntarily, 
startled. 

"Vick!"  Her  brown  eyes  were  wide.  "What 
is  it?  Is  anything  wrong?" 

"Notiiin'much." 

"Can't  I  — can't  we  help  you?" 

Vick's  features  softened  and  he  laughed, 
though  there  was  little  of  mirth  in  the  ring  of  it. 

"Hesba,  can't  nobody  help  me.  I  got  to 
straighten  this  out  myself." 

The  girl  followed  the  lad  to  the  porch  and 
stared  after  him  in  dread  until  he  swung  into 


172  Saturday  Nights 

the  shadows  beyond  the  gaslight  on  the  corner. 

Vick's  course  was  mapped  in  his  mind.  First 
he  must  find  Dill.  With  no  hesitancy  he  headed 
for  the  Wann  flat. 

In  many  a  mood,  gay  or  despondent,  had  the 
lad  climbed  those  stairs,  but  never  before  had 
he  sought  admittance  to  Eva's  parlor  in  such 
a  state  of  cold  determination. 

At  his  bid  for  entry  the  girl  opened  the  door 
and  Vick  strode  into  the  room.  Dill  was  there, 
his  lips  swollen. 

"  What  d'you  want  here?"  Eva  inquired. 

"I  didn't  come  to  fuss  with  you,  Eva,"  Vick 
asnwered  quietly.  "We'll  patch  up  our  quar- 
rel some  other  time,  I'm  hopin'.  I  come  to  talk 
with  Dill." 

Eva  turned  to  the  youth  on  the  couch.  He 
shifted  uneasily,  beady  eyes  interrogating  Vick. 

"He  knows  what  I  came  for,"  Vick  deliber- 
ately continued.  "The  sneak  an*  his  gang  run 
over  me  today  an'  took  my  rifle  off  with  'em. 
I've  come  for  it." 

"  I  hope  you  got  better  sense  than  to  look  for 
it  here,"  Eva  observed. 

"I  know  it  ain't  here,  Eva,"  Vick  replied 
patiently.  "But  Dill's  here  an'  he  knows  where 
the  rifle  is." 


The  Decision  of  Vick  173 

"What  do  I  know  'bout  your  gun?"  Dill 
aggressively  demanded. 

"You  know  all  'bout  it,  I  reggon.  It  went 
with  your  gang." 

"S'pose  it  did?"  Dill  sneered. 

"I  know  it  did.  An'  you're  goin'  to  get  it 
back  for  me." 

"Like  hell  I  am!" 

Vick  stood  over  his  enemy,  his  pose  frankly 
threatening.  "I  ain't  got  no  time  to  play. 
Where's  that  rifle?" 

"  In  better  hands  than  'twas,"  Dill  retorted. 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  ask  you  but  once  more." 
Vick's  voice  was  harsh  and  the  blood  of  combat 
reddened  his  face.  "If  you  don't  tell  me  then, 
I'm  goin'  to  handle  you  rough,  right  here  in 
front  of  Eva.  I  can  do  it  an'  you  know  it. 
.  .  .  Where's  that  rifle?" 

"  Over  in  Little  Hell,"  Dill  surlily  informed 
him. 

"All  right,  I'll  take  your  word  for  it.  Hop 
along,  now.  We're  goin'  over  an'  get  it,  you 
an'  me." 

"You?"  Dill  looked  his  amazement.  "You're 
goin'  over  into  Little  Hell?" 

"I'm  goin'  where  the  rifle  is.  I'm  goin'  to 
have  it." 


174  Saturday  Mghts 

Dill  laughed  nastily,  a  wicked  gleam  in  his 
eyes.  'You  ain't  got  the  nerve!"  he  retorted. 
"  There's  a  bunch  over  the  creek  that'll  eat  you 
up" 

"I'll  sit  heavy  on  their  stomach,"  Vick  said 
shortly.  "Le's  go!" 

They  passed  Eva  on  their  way  out,  Vick  in 
sturdy  silence  and  Dill  in  evil  triumph.  When 
they  had  passed,  the  girl  made  the  slightest 
movement  to  stop  them,  but  her  face  hardened 
and  she  restrained  the  impulse. 

With  no  word  the  two  strode  across  the  bridge 
that  spanned  the  creek  below  the  car  barns, 
nearer  the  river.  Once,  on  the  Little  Hell  side 
as  they  walked  through  a  shaft  of  light  from 
a  shop  window,  Dill  took  pains  to  scan  the 
features  of  the  man  that  walked  beside  him. 
And  in  that  instantaneous  glance  he  saw  some- 
thing that  caused  his  tongue  nervously  to  caress 
his  lips. 

'You're  a  fool  for  comin',"  Dill  warned. 

"That's  what  you  think." 

"Must  have  a  gun  on  you,"  sneeringly. 

"Don't  need  one,"  curtly. 

;<You  can't  blame  what  happens  on  me. 
You're  makin*  me  show  you  where  the  gang 
hangs  out." 


The  Decision  of  Vick  175 

"lam  that." 

"That  uniform  ain't  goin'  to  help  none,  if 
that's  what  you're  figgerin'  on." 

"Aw,  get  a  move  on,"  Vick  answered  dis- 
gustedly. "All  I  want  from  you  is  that  rifle." 

At  the  river's  edge,  well  into  Little  Hell, 
Dill  led  the  way  into  a  tumble-down  rookery. 
Their  weight  made  the  worm-eaten  flooring  of 
the  passage  creak  dismal  protest  and  Vick's 
hand  flew  to  Dill's  collar. 

"Don't  you  holler!"  he  warningly  whispered. 
"Where's  the  rule?" 

"  Second  floor,"  Dill  muttered. 

"Go  on  up,"  Vick  commanded,  retaining  his 
hold.  "I'm  tellin'  you  again,  don't  holler!" 

"  There  ain't  no  need."  Vick  knew  the  wicked 
leer  twisted  his  lips.  "  There's  'nough  up  there 
to  handle  three-four  like  you.  You're  in  for  it 
now,  damn  you!" 

"  You  look  out  for  Dill,"  Vick  coldly  advised. 

Through  an  open  door  down  the  hall  from  the 
landing  Vick  saw  the  streaming  light  of  a  lamp. 
Dill,  who  would  have  lagged  behind,  was  un- 
ceremoniously thrust  forward.  Unannounced 
they  crossed  the  threshold. 

Vick  recognized  the  three  that  were  inside, 
the  most  notorious  of  Little  Hell's  rowdies, 


176  Saturday  Nights 

youths  repulsive  and  dissipated  of  feature.  Sur- 
prised, they  scrambled  to  their  feet,  leaving 
strewn  on  the  floor  a  deck  of  cards.  Amaze- 
ment, distrust  of  Iftieir  sight,  was  dominant  in 
their  demeanor,  and  fear  —  fear  that  others  in 
that  uniform  were  near. 

"He's  by  hisself,  fellers,"  Dill  triumphantly 
squealed.  "He's  come  to  get  his  gun!" 

The  eyes  of  one  of  the  trio  turned  for  an 
instant  toward  a  closet  door  on  the  farther  side 
of  the  littered  fireplace,  and  Vick  noted  the 
glance. 

lfWe  got  him  now,  got  him  good!"  Dill 
snarled  in  his  hate.  "The  scab!  Get  to  him, 
you!" 

Vick's  hand  darted  in  and  out  of  his  inside 
pocket  and  was  jabbed  under  Dill's  nose,  who 
shrank  abjectly,  thinking  the  object  Vick  held 
was  a  revolver.  As  he  cringed  the  ruffian  felt 
against  his  face  a  stinging  spray  of  liquid.  He 
gasped  and  immediately  began  to  struggle  for 
breath,  no  longer  interested  in  the  subduing- of 
Vick. 

With  oaths  intended  to  be  fear-inspiring  the 
other  gangsters  ran  at  Vick.  The  lad's  right 
hand  flashed  toward  them  and  the  two  at  his 
right  hand  began  to  paw  at  their  faces,  choking. 


The  Decision  of  Vick  177 

The  fist  of  the  remaining  rowdy  thudded  against 
Vick's  cheek  and  he  tottered  back  to  the  door- 
way. Recovering,  the  lad  closed  with  the  man 
who  had  struck  him  and  he,  too,  fell  back  as  a 
jet  of  the  liquid  spatted  upon  his  forehead. 

"I'm  blinded!"  he  howled. 

The  room  reeked  with  the  fumes  of  ammonia 
as  Vick  made  his  way  unmolested  through  the 
gasping  quartette.  They  had  lost  all  interest 
in  his  movements.  He  reached  the  closet  and 
wrenched  open  the  door  as  the  rowdies,  recover- 
ing their  breath,  began  to  curse  him  in  their 
helpless  anger. 

It  was  late  when  Vick  returned  to  the  barns. 
There  was  a  man-sized  bruise  under  his  eye  and 
he  was  worn  with  the  strain  of  his  adventure, 
but  he  was  jubilant.  He  had  with  him  his  rifle. 


Chapter  14 
A  SATURDAY  XIGHT 

After  supper,  when  pipe  and  cigarette  were 
being  appreciated  by  the  veterans  of  a  day- 
OT-SO,  there  sounded  the  blare  of  a  bugle.  With 
hasty  sprucings-up  and  puzzled  mutterings  B 
Company  fell  in.  Captain  Gregg  immediately 
strode  to  the  front. 

"  Men,"  he  addressed  them,  "  several  cars  have 
made  round  trips  this  afternoon  with  little  dif- 
ficult}'. The  railway  officials  have  decided  to 
continue  the  trips  tonight.  For  the  initial  run 
they  have  asked  me  for  five  men."  The  Cap- 
tain's pause  was  impressive.  "  I  need  not  point 
out  the  danger;  it  is  obvious.  I  want  the  five  to 
be  volunteers.  Xow,  who  will  go?" 

Vick  was  ranked  directly  in  front  of  the 
officer.  His  heart  jumped  at  the  suggestion  of 
real  danger,  of  this  chance  to  disprove  the  Cap- 
tain's vague  insinuation  of  cowardice.  Before 
the  last  word  was  uttered  the  lad  stepped  for- 
ward. At  his  side  was  Shad,  the  loyal.  Then, 

178 


A  Saturday  Nigbt  179 

in  almost  the  same  instant,  the  entire  company 
moved  forward  a  pace. 

The  features  of  the  Captain  hardened  as  he 
sternly  suppressed  a  glow  of  excusable  pride. 
He  searched  Vick's  face,  and  the  lad  met  the 
challenging  stare  with  confidence.  Captain 
Gregg  stepped  back  to  take  in  the  line;  Vick 
knew  he  was  to  be  one  of  the  five. 

The  car  sent  out  was  of  the  open,  summer 
type.  The  night  was  still  as,  with  its  guard 
aboard,  it  left  the  barns.  The  chief  of  the  strike 
breakers  stood  at  the  controller.  The  name 
under  which  he  submerged  his  identity  was 
known  and  hated  by  many  organizations  of 
working  men,  for  he  had  amassed  a  comfortable 
fortune  from  the  business  of  fighting  strikes  and 
strikers  all  over  the  country. 

Slowly  the  car  rumbled  through  iJhe  lighted 
streets.  Ploots  and  threats  greeted  the  troopers 
and  once  Shad  instinctively  dodged  as  a  stone 
fell  into  the  car.  He  forced  a  grin  as  he  ob- 
served the  grim  features  of  Vick,  who  disdained 
to  glance  where  the  missile  struck. 

"All  right,  old  Vickery,"  Shad  whispered, 
attempting  a  cheerfulness  he  did  not  feel, 
"you'll  duck,  too,  I'm  bettin',  when  we  hit  the 
loop  in  Little  Hell.  That's  where  the  lights 


180  Saturday  Nights 

don't  shine  so  bright,  an'  there's  plenty  of  nice 
dark  alleys." 

"Aw,  shut  up,"  Vick  muttered. 

"All  right,  pal,  but  you  duck  when  the 
duckin's  good  or  you'll  grow  a  lump  on  your 
head  as  big's  that  fellow's  nose — that — " 

While  talking  Shad  turned  for  another  view 
of  the  strike  breaker  on  the  rear  platform.  He 
had,  when  boarding  the  car,  casually  scanned 
the  man's  rough  profile,  but  now  saw  clearly  his 
full  face. 

"Vick!  Look  what's  with  us!"  Shad  ejacu- 
lated. "  The  fellow  on  the  back  end ! " 

Vick  looked  and  saw  Jasper  Timmons. 

"I  might  have  known  it,"  he  said,  disgusted. 
"I  might  have  known  Timmons  was  one  of  the 
strike  breakers." 

"Did  you  know  he  was  here?"  whispered 
Shad  in  surprise. 

"I  knew  he  was  in  town.  He  went  to  the 
house  an'  worried  Sarah.  He's  got  her  all 
worked  up  an'  nervous.  She  thought  sure  he 
was  dead." 

"  Eve'ybody  did,"  Shad  commented.  "  It  cer- 
t'ny  made  me  jump  to  see  him  back  here.  Is 
he  goin'  back  with  your  sister?" 

"He  says  he  is  —  but  he  ain't." 


A  Saturday  Night  181 

Timmons  noticed  the  lads  looking  his  way. 
He  must  have  recognized  Vick.  Scowling 
blackly,  he  turned  his  back. 

The  car  approached  the  loop.  Situated  in 
that  part  of  the  city  inhabited  by  the  rougher 
element,  it  offered  an  unequaled  field  of  endeav- 
ors for  the  rioters.  Here  and  there  a  dim  light 
from  a  dingy  window  gleamed  half-heartedly 
into  the  night;  the  globes  of  the  city  lights  had 
proved  tempting  targets  for  missiles  thrown  by 
unerring  marksmen. 

Into  this  dismal  district  lurched  the  car,  the 
motorman  increasing  the  speed  as  it  advanced. 
Across  his  forehead  spread  a  deep  furrow  as  he 
peered  along  the  glaring  beam  thrown  by  the 
headlight,  which  the  car  seemed  striving  to  over- 
take. Vick  sat  low,  now,  his  wits  keenly  alert, 
expecting  momentarily  the  crash  of  a  stone  or 
the  thud  of  a  bullet  in  the  wood  work. 

From  the  mouth  of  an  alley  a  streak  of  flame 
split  the  darkness.  This  shot  must  have  been  a 
signal,  for  other  flashes  followed  and  a  brick 
splintered  the  back  of  the  bench  within  reach  of 
Vick.  The  car  swayed  madly  as  it  slowed  to 
round  a  corner.  The  cap  of  the  motorman 
dropped  from  his  head  and  Vick  gazed  with 
fascination  at  a  livid  blue  scar  at  the  base  of  the 


182  Saturday  Nights 

man's  skull,  a  memento,  perhaps,  of  some  pre- 
vious strike  riot. 

One  of  the  guards  straightened  suddenly,  then 
collapsed  in  his  seat,  staring  with  compressed 
lips  at  the  splotch  of  blood  that  steadily  widened 
about  the  tiny  tear  in  his  sleeve.  Very  carefully 
he  placed  his  rifle  on  the  floor  at  his  feet.  An 
incandescent  light  popped.  It  showered  its 
fragments  on  Vick.  The  mob  had  sprung  a  set 
trap.  Shad,  chalky  of  cheeks  and  forehead, 
grunted  and  cursed  as  he  fired  at  the  will-o'-the- 
wisp  flashes. 

The  loop  was  almost  completed  when  the  car 
suddenly  stopped.  With  an  oath  of  fear  the 
man  in  front  aroused  Timmons  into  action. 
That  worthy  leaped  to  the  ground.  From  the 
darkness  a  crowd  'began  to  gather.  Under  the 
guns  of  the  troopers,  watchfully  silent,  it  kept 
its  distance. 

"The  trolley's  broke,  chief!"  Timmons 
shouted.  "  The  trolley's  busted ! " 

"Go  to  it,  then!"  the  chief  yelled,  cursing 
again.  "What 're  ye  standin*  there  for?  Get 
up  there ! " 

Timmons  cringed,  daunted  by  the  venture. 
From  some  hidden  place  a  shot  was  fired.  The 
man  sucked  hoarsely,  and  sagged  to  the  pave- 


A  Saturday  Night  183 

ment.  In  the  dim  light  those  in  the  car  could 
see  a  small  hole  just  above  his  right  brow. 
Sarah  would  be  harassed  no  more. 

"Gawd!"  Shad  muttered.  "Coin'  to  be 
somethin'  doin*  now." 

"  We  got  to  get  outer  here,"  Vick  whispered. 

The  lad  dropped  to  the  ground  and,  agile  as 
a  monkey,  he  gained  the  car  roof.  As  his  fig- 
ure was  silhouetted  against  the  sky  an  uneasy 
movement  among  the  onlookers  disturbed  the 
silence.  Perhaps  the  very  audacity  of  the  act 
held  tense  fingers  inactive  for  a  moment.  The 
trolley  pole  lay  flat,  its  base  spring  broken. 
Vick  lifted  it  and  thrust  the  wheel  hard  against 
the  wire  overhead. 

"Go  'head!"  he  yelled. 

Slowly  the  car  gathered  headway;  then, 
faster  and  faster  it  lurched  along.  Behind,  some 
of  the  mob  came  to  life  and  sent  after  it  a  scat- 
tering fire. 

Vick,  holding  the  wheel  against  the  wire,  was 
a  fair  target.  A  staggering  blow  against  his 
shoulder  nearly  dropped  him,  but  he  struggled 
to  keep  his  footing,  seeing  in  the  blurred  dis- 
tance the  arc  lights  of  the  barns.  There  was 
safety. 

The  car  rolled  over  the  bridge  crossing  the 


184  Saturday  Nights 

creek  and  the  wheels  shrieked  at  the  sudden  stop 
before  the  barn.  On  the  car  top  Vick  still  held 
the  pole  to  the  wire,  though  each  instant  he 
threatened  to  pitch  to  the  ground.  Shad  was 
the  first  to  reach  him.  As  the  stricken  lad  col- 
lapsed his  chum  caught  him  and  lowered  him 

gently  to  the  roof. 

***** 

At  the  hospital,  after  his  wound  had  been 
dressed,  Vick  passed  a  restless  night,  not  fully 
regaining  his  senses  until  the  coming  of  dawn. 
He  came  gradually  to  a  sense  of  himself,  hear- 
ing afar  off  the  murmur  of  a  voice,  like  thunder 
faint  in  the  distance. 

"Did  I  fall?"  he  muttered. 

"No,  you're  all  right  now,"  someone  spoke 
soothingly.  "  There  is  no  need  to  talk." 

A  cheerful  nurse  leaned  over  him,  a  hand  of 
professional  gentleness  upon  his  shoulder.  Im- 
pulsively impatient,  Vick  tried  to  shift  his  body 
into  a  more  comfortable  position.  The  effort 
caused  a  stab  of  pain. 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?"  he  wanted  to 
know. 

His  head  felt  large  and  tight;  his  shoulder, 
where  bandages  securely  swathed  him,  seemed 
held  in  some  huge  vise. 


A  Saturday  Night  185 

"Hospital?"  he  murmured,  eyes  roving  about 
the  bare  walls  of  the  room. 

"Yes,"  the  nurse  answered.  "Just  be  quiet 
now  and  rest.  Let  me  do  the  talking." 

"Last  night — they  brought  me  here?" 

"Yes,  last  night.  Your  Captain  came  with 
you,  and  Private  Fish.  They  haven't  been  gone 
long.  They  stayed  until  they  were  satisfied  you 
were  coming  along  all  right." 

"  Good  old  Shad,"  Vick  murmured.  He 
mused  a  moment.  "An'  the  Cap'n  came,  too?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  the  nurse  smiled.  "But  you 
needn't  hint.  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  what  he 
said.  It  might  enlarge  your  head." 

Vick  grinned  wanly.  "It  feels  too  large  as 
'tis." 

He  swallowed  with  a  grimace  the  medicine 
she  had  been  preparing  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

In  the  early  afternoon  the  lad  felt  better. 
Indeed,  he  asked  to  be  taken  home.  His  sur- 
roundings disturbed  him.  The  atmosphere  of  the 
hospital  impressed  him  dismally.  Strongly  he 
felt  the  call  of  the  familiar  little  house  in 
Yarder  Street.  That  was  where  he  belonged; 
that  was  where  he  would  be. 

The  nurse  entered  and  smoothed  the  covers, 
much  rumpled  with  Vick's  squirming. 


186  Saturday  Mghts 

'*  You  have  a  caller,  your  girl  friend." 

Eva!  Strangely,  the  knowledge  of  her  near- 
ness brought  to  Vick  no  rush  of  happiness.  He 
had  no  time  for  self-analysis.  With  the  going 
of  the  nurse  the  girl  tripped  smilingly  into  the 
room,  arrayed  in  her  gaudiest. 

"Vick?"  she  cried,  and  theatrically  kissed 
him. 

"Well,  Eva,"  he  gravely  returned. 

She  pulled  a  chair  up  close  and  taking  his 
hand  began  to  stroke  it.  A  sense  of  ownership 
pervaded  her,  and  Vick  was  somehow  annoyed. 

"Vick — the  other  day — on  the  street — I 
didn't  mean  what  I  said.  'Bout  hatin'  you.  I 
was  so  mad  —  " 

Vick  squirmed,  mentally  and  bodily.  He 
wanted  to  forget  that  five  minutes. 

"Aw,  Eva,"  he  said,  "you  wouldn't  listen  to 
me,  you  wouldn't  let  yourself  understand.  I 
tried  to  make  it  plain.  I  had  to  go  out  with 
the  Guards  even  if  I  was  one  of  the  strikers. 
To  be  a  striker  don't  mean  to  be  a  law  breaker, 
a  rioter." 

"I  know  now,  Vick," the  girl  answered.  "An' 
I  orter  have  known  in  the  beginnin'  that  you 
wouldn't  do  anything  but  what  you  was  sure 
was  right." 


A  Saturday  Mght  187 

"I  was  in  a  awful  mess,  Eva.  You  hurt  me 
ter'ble,  goin'  'gainst  me  like  you  did.  A  mean 
hole,  an'  I  had  to  climb  out  the  best  way  I  could. 
I  had  to  be  decent.  I  couldn't  crawl.  Ar'  I 
still  b'lieve  I  done  what  a  man  had  tc  do." 

She  leaned  over  him,  fragrantly  close,  her 
eyes  sparkling  in  her  animation. 

"Vick,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "of  course  you 
done  right  an*  nothin'  but.  Now,  to-day,  you're 
a  reg'lar  hero.  This  mornin's  paper  is  full  of 
you  an'  what  you  done  last  night.  It  praises 
you  up  to  the  sky,  all  'bout  your  braveness  an' 
all.  Your  picture  — ' 

Vick  growled  his  vexation.  "Where'd  they 
get  a  picture  of  me?" 

"Why,  I  lent  the  reporter  the  one  you  gave 
me,  Vick,"  Eva  archly  confessed.  "An'  one  of 
mine,  too." 

Vick  studied  the  pretty  face,  flushed  as  it  was 
with  exultation,  and  a  smile  which  held  amused 
derision  played  with  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"  You  ain't  mad,  are  you,  Vick?" 

"  I  ain't  got  strength  to  get  mad,  Eva." 

He  began  to  comprehend,  to  get  an  inkling, 
of  the  functioning  of  her  shallow  mind.  She 
rejoiced  in  his  momentary  fame.  She  had  come 
to  him,  had  claimed  him  as  her  own,  after  flout- 


188  Saturday  Nights 

ing  him  in  his  hour  of  misery.  Just  now  he  was 
necessary  to  her,  she  had  coupled  her  name  with 
his  in  the  publicity  he  would  have  avoided.  Her 
insatiable  vanity  was  rejoicing  in  Vick's  fame 
and  she  had  welcomed  the  opportunity  to  have 
her  picture  in  the  paper. 

Eva  was  about  to  speak  when  the  nurse  ush- 
ered an  important  personage  across  the  thresh- 
old. The  man,  portly  and  prosperous,  advanced 
briskly  and  pompously  to  the  edge  of  Vick's 
bed. 

"Joyce?"  he  inquired  with  condescending 
assurance. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Vick  answered,  wondering  who 
the  man  might  be. 

"Joyce,  ahem,"  the  visitor  began,  fussily 
wiping  his  glasses  and  setting  them  firmly  upon 
a  dignified  nose,  "representing  the  Burleyton 
Railway  Company  I  have  been  appointed  to 
perform  a  task  which  gives  me  pleasure."  He 
bowed,  more  pompous  than  ever,  as  if  address- 
ing an  audience.  'Your  brave,  your  heroic 
act—" 

"Aw,"  Vick  interrupted,  flushing. 

"Ahem!  The  company,  in  view  of  your 
splendid  courage  of  last  night,  has  authorized 
me  to  call  and  tell  you  that  a  check  of  sizable 


A  Saturday  Night  189 

proportions  will  be  sent  you  to-morrow  as  a 
practical  token  of  its  appreciation." 

"How  much?"  Eva  demanded,  her  eyes  shin- 
ing greedily. 

"One  hundred  dollars." 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  Vick  said. 

"You  don't  want  it?"  The  gentleman  was 
incredulous.  His  grandiose  air  evaporated. 

"That's  what  I  said." 

Eva  spoke  no  word,  but  with  her  eyes  the  girl 
begged  Vick  to  accept  the  gift. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  the  personage  spoke. 

"You  can't  see  it  like  me,  maybe,  Mister," 
Vick  explained,  a  bit  fretfully.  "I  ain't  done 
nothin'  for  the  comp'ny,  an'  to  be  plain  'bout 
it,  I  ain't  goin'  to.  What  I  done  was  for  myself, 
nobody  else." 

"In  that  case,"  the  visitor  stiffly  announced, 
"  nothing  remains  for  me  but  to  go." 

"Suits  me,"  Vick  said  indifferently,  and  the 
indignant  gentleman  strode  from  the  room. 

"Vick!"  Eva  protested.     "Are  you  crazy?" 

"  Not  much,  I  ain't." 

"Why  didn't  you  take  the  money,  then?  If 
we  had  that  much  we  could  be  married  as  soon's 
you  get  well.  Lemme  run  after  him.  Lemme 
call  him  back!" 


190  Saturday  Nights 

She  started  to  her  feet,  but  his  eyes  held  her. 
"Tain't  no  use.  Let  old  money-bags  go.  I 
wouldn't  have  a  cent  of  their  money." 

More  and  more  clearly,  as  he  lay  there,  the 
lad  realized  the  calculating  nature  of  the  girl. 
A  definite  feeling  of  repugnance  surged  through 
him.  He  wished  to  be  free  of  her  presence;  she 
irritated  him.  He  turned  his  face  that  she 
might  not  see  the  revulsion  he  knew  was  in  his 
eyes. 

Unannounced,  Sarah  came  in,  accompanied 
by  a  scared,  wide-eyed  little  Katie  and  Hesba 
Wyatt.  At  their  entrance  Eva  stiffened,  her 
bold  eyes  hardening  as  she  recognized  Hesba. 
Neither  spoke,  but  brown  eyes  and  blue  met  in 
a  challenging  stare,  and  the  brown  were  not 
the  first  to  falter.  Behind  them  was  the  strength 
of  womanhood  unspoiled.  Eva  flushed  as  her 
glance  wavered  and  Hesba  turned  to  Vick,  leav- 
ing for  the  returning  gaze  of  the  other  girl  only 
an  indifferent  shoulder.  Sarah  leaned  close  to 
kiss  the  lad. 

"Tell  her  to  go,  Sis,"  Vick  whispered. 

Sarah  required  no  urging.  She  had  long  dis- 
liked Eva,  but  with  womanly  wisdom  she  had 
never  revealed  her  aversion  to  her  brother. 

"  Vick  wants  you  to  go,"  she  said  coolly. 


A  Saturday  Night  191 

"  Me  ?    Vick ! "  Eva  exclaimed. 

The  lad  buried  his  face  in  the  pillow  and 
would  not  answer.  Eva  was  of  the  world  and 
her  emotions  were  not  for  her  features.  She 
shrugged  her  shapely  shoulders  to  convey  to  the 
other  girl  that  she  was  not  one  to  be  disturbed 
by  a  mere  whim,  and  passed  out. 

Sarah  and  Hesba  drew  chairs  up  close,  and 
Katie  perched  herself  primly  upon  the  bed,  to 
be  as  near  as  possible  to  Uncle  Vick.  The  lad 
talked  eagerly,  vividly  describing  the  events  that 
had  placed  him  in  the  hospital. 

"It  was  awful  at  home  this  mornin',  Vick," 
Sarah  commented,  when  he  had  finished. 
"  When  we  first  heard  that  you  were  in  the  hos- 
pital Mrs.  Cooper  carried  on  ter'ble  an'  — " 

"Hesba  cried,"  Katie  positively  interjected. 

"All  of  us  cried,"  Hesba  hastened  to  explain. 
Apparently,  Vick  did  not  see  the  flush  which 
the  child's  remark  had  brought  to  her  cheeks. 

"  Eve'ybody  had  a  good  time,  I  reggon,"  the 
lad  grinned.  "A  regular  old  cryin'  bee." 

Sarah  could  laugh  now;  Hesba,  too. 

"We  thought  sure  you  were  dying,"  the  girl 
confessed.  "At  first  we  cried  for  sorrow  and 
then  we  cried  for  gladness.  We  came  to  you 
as  soon  as  they'd  let  us." 


192  Saturday  Nights 

"I'm  cert'ny  glad  you  got  here  when  you 
did,"  Vick  answered,  his  words  for  both,  but  his 
gaze  was  for  Hesba  alone.  "  She  was  gettin*  on 
my  nerves." 

"What  about  us?"  Hesba  spiritedly  retorted. 
"Maybe  we've  made  you  talk  too  much  and 
you'll  get  nervous  again." 

"No  danger,"  Vick  warmly  protested.  Sarah 
smiled,  noting  that  she  and  Katie  were  to  all 
intents  non-existent.  "You,  you  don't  jar 
'gainst  a  fellow,  somehow.  You're  easy-like — 
an'  —  an* — restful." 

Hesba  saw  Sarah  scanning  her  face  and  in 
the  sister's  eyes  was  a  surprised  interest.  The 
girl  blushed.  Then  Vick,  sensitive  to  Sarah's 
new  alertness,  talked  to  the  two  of  them.  Sarah 
listened  with  no  change  of  countenance  as  the 
lad  told  of  Timmons'  death.  She  was  not  a  hypo- 
crite. She  owed  the  man  no  pretense  of  mourn- 
ing and  she  did  not  mourn.  She  was  glad  for 
Katie's  sake,  and  her  own,  to  be  free  of  him. 


Chapter  15 
VICE'S  NEW  VIEWPOINT 

At  home,  immured  in  his  all  but  forgotten 
books,  the  tattered,  dog-eared  cronies  of  more 
youthful  days,  Vick  lounged  and  read  away  the 
long  days  of  convalescence. 

Since  the  morning  they  had  transferred  him 
from  the  hospital  Vick  had  not  ventured  upon 
the  street.  But  to-day  the  lad  wearied  of  the 
limitations  of  the  two-roomed  flat.  A  change 
of  surroundings,  a  breath  of  outdoors,  became 
indispensable  to  his  contentment  of  mind.  For 
once  his  books  bored  him. 

The  lad  found  his  cap  and  coat  and  cau- 
tiously, like  a  child,  negotiated  the  difficult  de- 
scent to  the  hall  below.  There  he  came  upon 
Mrs.  Cooper  and  Katie. 

"Look  at  the  boy,  now,"  the  old  woman 
exclaimed,  apparently  for  the  sole  benefit  of  the 
child.  "  Goin'  out,  an*  him  as  weak  as  a  day-old 
kitten!" 

"Aw,  I'm  'most  well  now,  Mrs.  Cooper." 

193 


194  Saturday  Nights 

"I  ain't  the  one  to  try  an'  keep  you  in,  my 
young  man,"  Mrs.  Cooper  remarked,  with 
kindly  sarcasm.  "  If  you've  made  up  your  mind 
to  go,  you'll  go  in  spite  of  what  an  old  woman 
might  say." 

Vick  smiled. 

"But  wait,"  she  continued,  reaching  toward 
the  dilapidated  hall  rack.  "  Take  this  with  you, 
anyhow.  'Nother  leg  ain't  goin'  to  hurt  you. 
You  ain't  got  your  strength  yet,  Vick." 

The  lad  would  not  have  the  cane.  Feeble  as 
he  was,  he  would  not  take  the  risk  of  being 
thought  effeminate.  In  the  warm  sun  of  the 
late  afternoon  he  slowly  traversed  the  half-dozen 
blocks  that  stretched  between  the  house  in 
Yarder  Street  and  Gallopin'  Dick's. 

A  faint  flush  coloring  his  wan  cheeks,  Vick 
entered  the  saloon.  But  for  Gallopin'  behind 
the  bar,  the  place  was  empty.  The  bumping  of 
the  swinging  doors  drew  the  man's  attention 
from  his  task  of  the  moment. 

"Who  let  you  out?"  he  all  but  yelled. 
"  Why'd  you  crawl  'way  down  here,  hey?  Ain't 
you  got  no  sense  a-tall,  you  simp?  You're  a 
weak  sister;  you  look  like  you  got  both  feet  in 
the  grave!" 

Vick  just  stood  and  looked,  his  eyes  scanning 


Vick's  New  Viewpoint          195 

in  turn  each  familiar  object.  The  bawling  voice 
of  Gallopin'  was  nothing  less  than  music. 

:<  You  ought  to  stay  home.  You  ain't  got  the 
strength  of  a  crippled  flea,"  Gallopin'  growled. 

Despite  his  ungracious  welcome  he  hobbled 
from  behind  the  bar  and  assisted  Vick  to  a  table. 

"Aw,  Gallopin',"  Vick  drawled,  seating  him- 
self. "  I  ain't  dead  yet,  not  by  a  long  sight." 

"You  will  be,  an'  blasted  quick,  if  you  don't 
take  better  care  of  yourself,"  Gallopin'  darkly 
prophesied,  and  abruptly  took  himself  off  to 
serve  a  customer. 

When  time  for  supper  ticked  around  Vick 
felt  no  particular  hunger  and  he  did  not  go 
home.  A  sandwich  sufficed  him.  An  hour  or  so 
after,  Shad  sauntered  in. 

"So  you're  out,  hey?"  Shad  greeted.  "How 
they  runnin',  Vick?" 

"Slow,  Shad,  slow,"  Vick  answered  dispirit- 
edly. "  I  got  to  go  to  work,  an'  soon." 

"  Aw,  you  ain't  well  'nough." 

"I  soon  will  be  an'  I  ain't  got  no  job.  It's 
got  me  all  blue." 

"What  good  is  worryin'?    I  wouldn't  worry." 

"You,  what  d'you  know  about  worry?"  Vick 
sarcastically  demanded.  "You  ain't  got  sense 
'nough  to  worry.  Listen  here.  All  the  time  I 


196  Saturday  Nights 

been  home  my  sister's  been  takiri'  keer  of  me, 
an'  her  workin'  in  a  cigarette  f  act'ry.  It's  tough 
on  her,  Shad." 

Shad  complacently  lighted  a  cigarette.  :<  You 
can't  help  it." 

"Naw,  an'  I  can't  help  from  worryin'. 
either." 

"  You  can  go  back  on  the  cars." 

"I  can,  but  I  ain't,"  Vick  decisively  an- 
nounced. 

Shad  lapsed  into  thought.  ;"Em  fellows 
played  hell,  didn't  they?"  he  commented. 
"Just's  well  say  they  lost  the  strike.  Eve'y- 
thing  they  got  in  the  end  they  could  have  got 
by  not  strikin'." 

"Sure,"  Vick  agreed.  "The  comp'ny  was 
willin'  to  come  'cross  with  a  raise,  just's  much, 
I  reggon,  as  they  got.  'Twas  like  I  always  said. 
The  men  let  Dill  an'  two-three  more  wild-heads 
like  him  run  'way  with  'em.  What  'em  crooks 
wanted  would  have  busted  the  comp'ny  wide 
open." 

:' You  had  it  right  all  the  time." 

"They  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  I  kept  my 
head  an'  talked  sense.  But  they  wanted  ex- 
citement, an'  they  got  it,  if  nothin'  else  besides. 
Dill  an'  his  gang  messed  the  wrhole  works  up." 


Vick's  New  Viewpoint          197 

"That  reminds  me,"  Shad  remarked,  tact- 
lessly. "  When  you  said  Dill's  name  it  made  me 
think  of  Eva  Warm.  I  got  a  message  for  you." 

"'Nother  one?"  Vick  asked,  scarcely 
interested. 

"  Yep ;  she  tells  me  somethin'  to  tell  you  'most 
eve'y  day.  She  said  to  tell  you  she  wants  to 
see  you  bad.  If  you  can't  get  down  to  her 
house  she'll  meet  you  on  some  corner  'most  any 
night,  she  says.  She  acks  like  she's  crazy  to 
have  a  talk  with  you." 

Vick  grunted. 

"Sure  is  a  turn  'round,  ain't  it?"  Shad  con- 
tinued. "You  used  to  rush  her  hard,  but  now 
she's  rushin'  you,  'pears  like  to  me." 

"I  don't  want  to  see  her,  Shad,"  Vick  said. 
"  I'm  done  with  her.  You  tell  her  I  said  so." 

"Who?  Me?  Not  me!"  Shad  ejaculated. 
That  youth  knew  and  respected  the  lashing  qual- 
ity of  the  girl's  tongue. 

Vick  smiled  at  Shad's  emphatic  refusal.  He 
was  certainly  correct  in  his  surmise.  In  the 
game  they  now  played,  the  game  Vick  wished 
at  an  end,  the  girl  was  the  seeker.  Numerous 
messages  had  Shad  delivered  while  Vick  was 
shut  in,  messages  that  at  first  threatened  sever- 
ance of  their  acquaintanceship,  then  those  that 


198  Saturday  Nights 

begged  for  reconciliation  on  any  terms.     Vick 
had  ignored  all  of  them. 

Yet  in  spite  of  his  resolve  to  keep  his  future 
free  of  her,  to  put  her  entirely  from  his  life, 
yearning  for  her  persisted.  Within  his  being 
love  of  Eva  was  imbedded  deeply.  The  uproot- 
ing was  being  accomplished  slowly  and  pain- 
fully. At  times,  even  now,  he  had  to  fight  the 
attraction  of  her,  the  call  of  her  physical  charm. 
But  that  Sunday  in  the  hospital  there  had  been 
vouchsafed  him  a  rational  period,  when  he  dis- 
cerned the  inherent  selfishness  of  the  girl.  With 
sickening  realization  had  come  an  aversion  which 

grew  stronger  and  stronger  as  the  days  wore  on. 

***** 

Vick  spent  the  morning  in  content,  having  for 
recreation  a  book  from  the  shop  of  the  negro 
cobbler,  but  after  dinner  he  found  the  story  no 
longer  held  him.  A  feeling  of  -dissatisfaction 
possessed  him,  an  indefinable  rebellion  against 
things  as  they  were  that  urged  him  out-o'-doors. 
For  a  time  he  resisted  the  feeling,  but  it  got 
the  better  of  him.  He  cast  the  book  aside  and 
went  to  the  door. 

Yarder  Street  stretched  peaceful  in  the  con- 
genial warmth  of  the  Sabbath  sun.  Vick,  unset- 
tled of  mind,  stood  upon  the  front  porch,  glanc- 


Vick's  New  Viewpoint          199 

ing  up  and  down  the  cobbled  thoroughfare. 
There  was  no  place  he  particularly  cared  to  go. 

He  dropped  to  the  top  step  and  sat  there, 
staring  moodily  at  the  ground.  Footsteps 
creaked  the  boards  behind  him,  and  looking  up, 
he  saw  Hesba  and  Katie,  dressed  for  the  street. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Vick,"  Katie  greeted,  "we's 
goin'  walkin'." 

"That's  nice,  baby,"  Vick  answered,  mobiliz- 
ing a  smile. 

Hesba  spoke  as  she  passed  and  her  brown 
eyes  softened  as  they  searched  the  troubled 
countenance  of  the  lad.  Vick  watched  her  down 
the  pavement,  his  gaze  never  straying  from  her. 
At  the  corner  the  girl  glanced  back,  hesitated, 
and  then  stopped.  A  few  words  to  Katie  and 
the  child  came  back  as  quickly  as  her  chubby 
legs  allowed.  She  grasped  Vick's  hand. 

"Uncle  Vick,  come  an'  go  walkin'  with  us, 
me  an*  Hesba." 

The  lad  gave  the  child  no  attention.  His 
mind  and  his  eyes  were  for  the  girl,  who  saun- 
tered slowly  on. 

"  Come  on  an*  go  walkin',"  Katie  imperiously 
repeated,  tugging.  "You  got  to!" 

Vick  still  gazed  with  hungry  eyes. 

"Aw,  now,  Katie.    Hesba  don't  want  me." 


200  Saturday  Mghts 

"She  do,  she  do.  Hesba  said  to  make  you 
come!"  urged  the  child. 

So  Vick  went  walking  with  Katie  and  Hesba. 

That  night  on  his  cot  the  lad's  last  sleepy 
thoughts  were  of  a  girl  with  hair  and  eyes  of 
demure  brown,  with  features  of  no  especial 
beauty,  yet  attractive  —  of  Hesba  Wyatt. 


Chapter  16 
ANOTHER  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

Saturday  night  in  the  back  room  of  Gallopin' 
Dick's  saloon.  A  pool  table,  warped  by  extreme 
age,  occupied  the  center  of  the  floor,  its  vari- 
colored balls  of  imitation  ivory  huddled  in  a 
corner  where  some  disgruntled  player  had  left 
them.  At  the  moment  several  boisterous 
patrons  were  clustered  at  one  end  of  the  room 
rolling  dice  for  drinks.  Grouped  about  several 
tables  were  men  playing  cards. 

At  one  table  Vick  sat  with  three  companions. 
His  cap  was  twisted  at  an  aggressive  angle, 
his  coat  hung  limply  from  the  back  of  his  chair, 
his  face  was  flushed.  He  was  drunk. 

In  the  early  afternoon  Vick  and  Shad  had 
as  usual  foregathered  in  Gallopin's.  Shad,  who 
h<id  had  a  drink  or  two,  was  expansively  genial. 
He  had  that  noon  been  the  recipient  of  an 
increase  in  pay  and  he  was  fired  with  the  desire 
to  celebrate.  There  was  but  one  way.  Blithely, 
he  suggested  that  they  go  on  a  "tear."  Vick, 

201 


202  Saturday  Nights 

in  the  depths  of  despondency,  was  ready  for 
anything  short  of  suicide  to  rid  himself  of  the 
memory  of  a  luckless  week  of  job  hunting. 

Shad,  ever  a  spendthrift,  was  generous  with 
his  money.  In  spite  of  Vick's  protests  he 
insisted  upon  a  division  of  wealth  and  finally 
prevailed  upon  his  chum  to  share  his  luck.  It 
was  to  be  spent,  he  argued,  and  it  made  little 
difference  which  of  them  shoved  it  over  the  bar. 

Through  the  late  afternoon  and  early  even- 
ing they  had  stuck  together,  wandering  in  aim- 
less fashion  from  saloon  to  saloon,  slighting  few 
that  happened  in  their  path.  Shad  had  fallen 
by  the  wayside  somewhere — where,  Vick  did 
not  know.  Missing  his  chum,  he  had  turned 
toward  their  starting  point,  Gallopin's. 

What  money  Vick  had  left  lay  uneasy  in  his 
pocket  and  on  reaching  Gallopin's,  he  hurried 
into  the  back  room  in  search  of  a  vacant  chair 
and  a  card  table.  He  had  found  one  and  there 
he  had  remained. 

Now,  with  a  growl  of  disgust,  the  lad  threw 
his  cards  from  him.  The  gambler  sitting  oppo- 
site cackled  his  mirth  and  appropriated  the 
stakes. 

"  Thought  you  had  me  that  time,"  he  ingrati- 
atingly commented. 


Another  Saturday  Mght        203 

"If  I  had  your  luck,"  Vick  retorted  sourly, 
"I'd  never  work  another  lick." 

"  I  am  kinder  lucky,"  the  other  admitted.  He 
cast  a  sly  glance  of  amusement  at  the  grinning 
pair  who  made  up  the  game  and  they  answered 
with  fleeting  grimaces. 

Vick  was  fast  losing  the  little  self-control  he 
had  retained,  and  the  gambler  decided  to  waste 
no  more  time  on  the  unsuspecting  victim.  The 
next  deal  the  lad  picked  up  a  hand  he  thought 
could  not  be  beaten  —  but  it  was,  and  he  lost  his 
last  penny  on  the  play. 

He  stared  stupidly  at  the  better  hand.  "  I'm 
done.  I'm  broke." 

As  he  left  the  table,  coat  slung  under  an 
arm,  he  found  his  uncertain  progress  barred  by 
a  stranger  who  leaned  against  the  pool  table. 
This  fellow,  too,  was  a  bit  unsteady,  but  if  ever 
clothing  spelled  ready  money  his  did. 

"Hard  luck,"  he  remarked  genially. 

"What's  it  to  you?"  Vick  inquired. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  the  stranger  answered,  and 
smiled.  "What's  the  use  of  getting  nettled? 
To  prove  there's  no  hard  feelings  let's  you  and 
me  have  a  little  drink." 

Vick  was  willing.  He  felt  the  need.  To- 
gether they  leaned  against  the  bar,  and  the  lad 


204  Saturday  Nights 

gave  Gallopin'  scowl  for  scowl  as  lie  curtly 
ordered  whisky. 

"Is  this  your  hang-out?"  the  stranger 
inquired. 

"Uh-huh." 

"I  don't  reside  in  this  part  of  the  town  and 
it's  all  strange  to  me.  How  about  you  and  me 
knocking  about  a  bit?" 

"I'm  broke." 

"  Consider  yourself  heeled,  then."  A  fat  roll 
of  bills  was  displayed.  "I've  got  the  legal  ten- 
der and  I'm  looking  for  a  friend  to  help  me 
blow  it.  I'm  on  a  toot,  but  there's  no  fun  toot- 
ing all  by  your  lonesome.  Every  now  and  then 
I  break  away  from  the  ties  that  bind  and  get  lit 
up  like  a  street  lamp.  It  is  a  habit.  Ever  feel 
that  way?" 

"Eve'y  Sattiday,  at  least,"  Vick  said. 

"Every  Saturday?" 

"  Sattiday's  payday,"  Vick  explained. 

The  stranger  gravely  nodded.  "I  under- 
stand, I  think.  If  you  have  the  inclination  on 
other  nights,  you  lack  the  wherewithal.  What 
do  you  say?  Are  you  game  for  a  night  of  it 
with  me?" 

"Game's  my  middle  name,"  Vick  boasted. 
"First  we'll  go  hunt  for  Shad." 


Another  Saturday  Night        205 

"Who  is  he  of  the  fishy  name,  may  I  ask?" 

"You  may  ask.  Shad's  my  pal,  friend,  an' 
there  ain't  no  better  in  this  man's  town.  We 
started  out  together  to-day  an'  he  got  knocked 
out  somewhere  down  the  line." 

"Down  the  line?     That  sounds  interesting." 

Another  drink,  and  the  two  shouldered  a  path 
to  the  swinging  doors.  Vick  was  in  the  rear. 
An  impulse  bade  him  give  a  backward  glance 
and  he  caught  Gallopin's  gaze  intent  upon  him. 
Vick  swore  and  passed  out.  Gallopin',  with  his 
perpetual  watchfulness,  was  getting  on  his 
nerves. 

The  seekers  of  pleasure  traveled  the  length 
of  Tobacco  Flats.  They  inquired  for  the  elusive 
Shad  and  had  a  drink  in  every  saloon  they 
encountered  in  their  random  ranging. 

They  never  found  Shad.  The  last  thing  Vick 
recalled  was  his  new  friend  atop  a  barrel,  gustily 
singing,  and  he  could  sing,  at  the  hilarious  urge 
of  the  hangers-on  in  a  bar  in  lower  Main  Street. 

The  stranger  was  a  stellar  attraction.  At  the 
finish  of  each  song  he  leaned  forward  in  an 
attitude  of  comical  expectancy.  If  the  applause 
warranted,  to  his  mind,  he  would  buy  a  drink 
for  the  crowd  and  sing  another  song.  The 
ballads  were  many,  the  homage  was  vociferous. 


206  Saturday  Nights 

When  Vick  came  to  a  realization  of  himself 
the  sun  of  Sunday  morning  was  in  his  face. 
He  found  himself,  alone,  lying  on  a  plot  of  grass 
in  the  familiar  alley  back  of  Gallopin'  Dick's 
saloon.  Of  his  comrade  in  dissipation  there  was 
no  trace. 

The  lad  sat  up  and  the  act  made  him  wish  he 
had  not  moved — made  him  wish  he  might  never 
move  again.  A  triphammer  inside  his  skull 
began  to  hit  throbbing  blows  at  regular,  and 
frequent,  intervals.  Vick  groaned  aloud  and 
with  feverish  palms  tried  to  allay  the  ache. 

Incident  by  incident  he  painfully  recalled  the 
events  of  the  unrestrained  hours  of  Saturday 
night  until  the  memory  of  the  barroom  min- 
strelsy of  his  companion  came  to  mind.  What 
had  happened  after  that  Vick  could  not  remem- 
ber. Evidently  he  had  staggered  into  the  yard 
and  gone  to  sleep. 

The  lad  struggled  to  his  feet.  He  could  not 
find  his  cap.  He  staggered  from  the  mouth  of 
the  alley  thence  on  up  Yarder  Street.  He  was 
going  home.  In  Tobacco  Flats,  during  the  first 
daylight  hour  of  Sunday,  the  thoroughfares  are 
far  from  populous  and  Vick  met  no  one.  The 
early  sun  hurt  his  eyes  as  he  approached  the 
house  and  stole  up  on  the  porch.  The  front 


Another  Saturday  Night        207 

door  was  unlocked  and  he  grunted  his  satisfac- 
tion that  it  was  unnecessary  to  arouse  anyone 
inside.  He  had,  of  course,  to  reckon  with  Sarah. 
She  would  scold — bitterly.  That  he  would  have 
to  endure.  But  there  was  one  who  would  survey 
him  with  eyes  of  accusing  scorn,  withering  scorn 
he  could  not  face.  Emphatically,  he  did  not 
want  to  meet  Hesba  Wyatt. 

Sarah  did  scold.  She  let  Vick  know  she  was 
ashamed  of  him,  that  he  was  far  along  the  dis- 
sipated path  of  Jasper  Timmons,  and  freely 
voiced  lashing  phrases  of  like  nature  in  hei> 
resentment  of  his  behavior. 

When  the  lad  would  have  thrown  himself  on 
his  cot  she  would  not  let  him.  He  sat,  a  picture 
of  misery,  fully  as  ill  as  he  looked,  while  Sarah 
awakened  Katie  and  prepared  for  the  brother 
a  place  in  the  front  room.  She  had  work  to  do 
in  the  kitchen,  she  said,  and  did  not  want  him  in 
her  sight. 

It  seemed  to  Vick  that  he  had  scarcely  won 
the  sleep  he  wooed  when  Sarah  aroused  him. 
He  eyed  her  stupidly. 

"  There's  men  comin'  up  to  see  you,  Vick." 

"Who's  it?"  Vick  mumbled. 

"  Mr.  Jessup  an'  another  man." 

The  jumping  ache  of  Vick's  head  did  not 


208  Saturday  Nights 

keep  him  from  wondering  at  a  visit  from 
Gallopin'  Dick. 

"What  time  is  it?"  he  demanded. 

"After  'leven  —  most  twelve." 

"Tell  Gallopin'  an'  whoever  the  other  one  is 
to  come  up,"  said  Vick  sourly. 

He  slipped  on  trousers  and  shirt  and  was 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  when  Gallopin' 
hobbled  in,  followed  by  Dugg,  the  policeman. 
Dugg  was  not  in  uniform. 

Since  the  night  of  the  raid  on  the  lumber  yard 
gang,  when  the  officer  had  captured,  and  then 
released,  Vick  and  Shad,  the  lads  had  come  to 
know  a  sort  of  affection  for  Dugg,  who  in- 
clined to  the  belief  that  youth  should  be  handled 
with  tolerance.  And  it  was  not  at  all  surprising 
to  see  him  with  Gallopin'  Dick,  whose  saloon 
was  on  his  beat.  The  two  were  cronies  of  long 
standing. 

As  the  men  came  in  from  the  hall  Vick  eyed 
them  inquiringly,  not  troubling  himself  to  rise. 
There  were  no  greetings.  With  the  antagonistic 
air  of  one  who  has  no  time  to  waste  on  a 
distasteful  task  Gallopin'  planted  himself  in 
front  of  the  lad.  He  jerked  from  a  pocket  a 
cap. 

"Ain't  this  here  yours?"  he  demanded. 


Another  Saturday  Night        209 

"  Sure,  it's  my  cap,"  Vick  replied. 

Dugg  saw  to  it  that  the  doors  were  closed 
while  Gallopin',  a  scowl  Barkening  his  face,  pro- 
duced a  soiled  handkerchief  and  displayed  for 
the  benefit  of  Vick  an  initial  V. 

"How  'bout  this  here?"  he  demanded. 

"Mine,  too,"  Vick  answered,  mystified.  It 
was  one  of  a  half-dozen  given  him  his  last 
birthday  by  Sarah. 

The  man  towered  over  the  lad,  his  under  jaw 
outthrust,  his  attitude  domineering.  His  eyes, 
under  their  lowering  brows,  were  as  hard  as 
flint. 

"Listen,  Joyce!"  Vick  stiffened  at  the  men- 
ace in  the  voice.  "Last  night  I  was  robbed!" 

"Robbed?  How?"  Vick  was  incredulous, 
bewildered. 

"How?"  The  man's  laugh  was  bitter.  "You 
ask  me?  Listen,  you!  When  I  closed  up  at 
midnight  I  left  'bout  three  hundred  'n  fifty 
dollars  in  my  safe.  A  while  ago,  like  I  always 
do  on  Sunday  mornin's,  I  come  down  to  the 
place  to  straighten  things  up.  An*  I  found  the 
safe  busted ! " 

"Busted?"  Vick  echoed. 

"An'  the  three-fifty  gone!" 

It  came  to  Vick,  then,  like  a  blow,  that  tEe 


210  Saturday  Nights 

visit  of  Gallopin'  and  the  one-time  good-natured 
policeman  meant  that  somehow  they  thought  him 
involved;  thought  he  at  least  knew  something 
of  the  robbery.  The  realization  stung  him  and 
with  an  angry  gesture  he  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"What's  all  that  got  to  do  with  me,  Gal- 
lopin'?" he  indignantly  inquired.  "What  did 
you  an'  Dugg  come  to  me  for?" 

"You  know  why,  blast  you!"  Gallopin'  swore. 
"Behind  the  bar,  right  in  front  of  the  safe,  I 
found  this  here  cap  an'  nose  piece.  You  say 
yourself  that  they're  yours  an'  I  know  it.  Don't 
that  mean  nothin'  to  you,  Joyce?" 

"Not  a  damn  thing!"  Vick  defiantly  retorted. 

"It  does  to  me  an'  Dugg,  an'  it  will  to  a 
judge  an'  jury."  Gallopin'  was  vindictively 
cold. 

Vick's  anger  burned  in  his  cheeks  but  by  an 
effort  he  kept  control  of  his  tongue. 

"Gallopin',"  he  said,  slowly  and  earnestly, 
"  le's  get  this  here  bus'ness  straight.  You  mean 
to  say  I  robbed  you? " 

"I  mean  to  say  you  helped  rob  me,  at  the 
least!"  Gallopin'  retorted.  "You  an'  that  flashy 
yegg  got  my  money.  Where's  he  at?" 

"The  fellow  I  was  knockin'  'round  with  last 
night?" 


Another  Saturday  Night        211 

"Yes— that  yegg." 

"I  don't  know  where  he's  at,"  Vick  said,  a 
bit  surlily.  "An*  what's  more,  I  don't  keer.  I 
don't  even  know  his  name." 

Gallopin'  turned  to  the  stolid  officer. 

"  Just  to  think,  Dugg,"  he  said,  "  after  all  my 
interest  in  Joyce,  tryin'  to  make  him  ack  like  a 
man,  he  goes  an'  does  me  dirt  like  this.  I  used 
to  think  there  was  somethin'  in  him,  that  he  was 
better  than  most  of  the  fact'ry  lads.  But  he's 
proved  to  me  he  ain't  no  good  whatever.  They 
are  boozers,  but  so  is  he,  an'  they  don't  steal!" 

"Aw,  Gallopin',"  Vick  said,  appealingly, 
"you  don't  really  mean  to  say  I  robbed  you?" 

"I  don't?"  Anger  again  flared  viciously  in 
the  man.  "I  cert'ny  do  mean  just  that,  an* 
what's  more  to  the  p'int,  I'm  goin'  to  prosecute 
you.  The  other  thief's  got  away,  I  reggon,  but 
I  got  you!" 

"Good  God,  Gallopin'!"  Vick  gasped  in 
agony.  "This  is  ter'ble.  You  ain't  got  no 
proof!" 

"What  'bout  the  cap  an'  handkerchief?" 

Vick's  strength  left  him.  He  swayed,  beads 
of  sweat  gathered  on  his  forehead.  He  found 
his  seat  again  and  hid  his  face  in  his  palms. 

For  the  first  time  Dugg  spoke. 


212  Saturday  Nights 

"Look  here,  Joyce,"  he  said  gruffly.  "If 
you  ain't  guilty,  prove  you  ain't." 

Aroused  by  hope  Vick  lifted  his  head. 
"How?"  blankly. 

"How  the  devil  do  I  know?"  Dugg  returned. 
"I  ain't  no  Sherlock,  I'm  a  cop.  But  if  you 
wasn't  in  Gallopin's  this  mornin'  when  the  safe 
was  opened  you  must  have  been  somewheres 
else.  Where  was  you?" 

Vick  thought,  thought  hard.  "When  did  it 
happen?" 

"Some  time  past  midnight." 

A  shrug  of  his  shoulders  and  Vick  stood 
again,  helplessness  in  each  line  of  his  face. 

"Gallopin',"  he  spoke,  "I  got  to  tell  you.  I 
can't  remember  where  I  was  past  midnight  last 
night.  That's  the  God's  truth.  I  was  drunk,  so 
drunk  I  don't  remember  nothin'.  When  I  left 
your  place  with  that  fellow  we  roamed  all  over 
Main  Street.  The  last  I  do  remember  we  was 
in  a  barroom  down  by  the  creek,  the  whole 
crowd  singing.  The  next  thing  I  knew  I  woke 
up  in  the  alley  back  of  your  place." 

"Can't  you  remember  nothin'  else?"  Dugg 
ponderously  inquired. 

"Not  a  thing.  'Em  hours  is  a  blank  to  me. 
'Tween  that  time  I  can't  remember  where  I  was 


Another  Saturday  Night        213 

or  what  I  done.  I  might  have  gone  into  Gal- 
lopin's,  but  if  I  did  I  didn't  know  what  I  was 
doin'.  That's  the  truth,  an'  nothin'  but!" 

The  saloon  man  grunted. 

"Seems  to  me,  GaUopin',"  Dugg  thought- 
fully remarked,  "if  Joyce  helped  the  yegg  pull 
off  the  job  he  would  have  got  somethin'  outer 
it;  his  share  of  the  swag." 

"Sure!"  Vick  eagerly  interjected.  "That 
proves  it.  I  ain't  got  a  cent." 

"We  don't  know  that,"  GaUopin'  remarked. 
"Search  him,  Dugg.  Search  the  place  an'  his 
clothes." 

Vick  stood  while  the  officer  clumsily  searched 
his  trousers  pocket.  Dugg  had  begun  the  task 
of  searching  the  bed  and  its  covers  when  Gal- 
lopin'  espied  Vick's  coat  lying  across  a  trunk. 

"Look  into  the  coat,"  he  growled. 

The  outside  pockets  yielded  nothing  of  inter- 
est. Dugg's  thick  fingers  slipped  into  an  inside 
pocket.  He  grunted. 

"Here  'tis,"  he  said,  and  drew  forth  a  roll  of 
bills. 

GaUopin'  hobbled  closer. 

"  Fifty  dollars,"  he  counted.  "  Blast  you,  that 
settles  it.  You  can't  lie  outer  it  now!" 

Vick  was  aghast,    "Gallopin\  I  swear,"  he 


214  Saturday  Nights 

faltered.  "I  swear  I  didn't  know  the  money 
was  there!" 

"Aw,  tell  it  to  the  judge,"  Gallopin'  brutally 
advised. 

"  You  own  up,  now,  don't  you? "  Dugg  asked. 
"There  ain't  no  way  you  can  get  outer  it. 
You're  in  a  tight  hole,  to  my  way  of  thinkin'." 

"Makes  no  diffrunce  whether  he  owns  up  or 
not,"  Gallopin'  said.  "  He's  headed  for  the  pen 
right  now." 

Vick  saw  no  hope.  The  finding  of  the  money 
broke  his  spirit.  He  raged  at  his  gay  acquaint- 
ance of  Saturday  night.  Now,  the  lad  was 
convinced  that  he  had  in  drunken  recklessness 
helped  rob  Gallopin'  Dick.  More  than  once 
Vick  had  imagined  himself  in  the  depth  of 
misery  but  now,  in  this  black  moment,  he  knew 
stark  despair.  Dry-eyed,  he  stared  at  Gallopin' 
Dick. 

"  We  know  'nough,"  the  man  rasped.  "  Serve 
the  warrant,  Dugg." 

"Warrant?"  Vick  gasped. 

His  imagination  pictured  what  would  follow. 
He  saw  himself  led,  a  criminal,  past  the  frank- 
eyed  Hesba.  He  thought  of  her  first,  somehow, 
then  of  Sarah. 

"Man!  Gallopin' !"  he  cried,  desperate.  "Ain't 
you  got  a  heart  ?  Gimme  a  chance ! " 


Another  Saturday  Mght        215 

Gallopin'  turned  from  him.  Dugg  reached 
into  a  pocket  and  Vick  watched  with  startled 
eyes  for  the  warrant  that  would  make  him  a 
prisoner.  But  Dugg's  hand  reappeared  empty. 
The  big  policeman  hesitated  and  cleared  his 
throat. 

"Look  here,  Gallopin',"  he  suggested,  "can't 
you  give  Joyce  a  chance,  like  he  asks  for?  It's 
his  first  job,  you  know.  An'  if  the  pen  gets  him 
for  a  year  or  two  that'll  be  the  last  of  him 
an  ~~~" 

"What  do  I  keer?"    Gallopin'  was  savage. 

Dugg  persisted,  brushing  aside  as  inconse- 
quential the  interruption.  Vick  hung  on  his 
words. 

"Prison  ain't  goin'  to  get  your  money  back. 
You  know  it  an'  I  know  it.  Give  Joyce  a 
chance,  is  my  advice,  an'  let  him  pay  back  the 
money  little  by  little." 

"Pay  back!  "Gallopin' snorted.  "Hell!  He 
ain't  got  a  job!" 

"Aw,  he  can  get  one,"  Dugg  assured  him. 
"Would  you  be  willin'  to  pay  the  money  back, 
Joyce,  all  of  it,  even  what  the  yegg  got  'way 
with?" 

"Would  I?"  Vick  began  to  live  again.  "I'd 
be  willin'  to  pay  back  twice  as  much.  I'd  be 


216  Saturday  Nights 

willin*  to  do  anything  to  get  outer  this  here 
trouble.  My  word  of  honor,  I  would!" 

"Your  word  of  honor  ain't  worth  a  row  of 
bent  pins!"  said  Gallopin'  scornfully. 

"  He'd  pay,  I  reggon,"  Dugg  commented, 
"knowin'  he's  got  a  standin'  invite  to  the  pen  if 
he  don't." 

"I'll  pay — I  promise." 

Dugg  drew  Gallopin'  into  a  corner  and  there 
the  two  whispered  while  Vick  waited  in  agonized 
suspense.  At  Dugg's  plea  Gallopin'  apparently 
gave  up  his  desire  for  vengeance. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  turning  to  Vick,  "you 
get  your  chance.  But  you  got  to  pay  me,  an' 
you  got  to  pay  me  six  per  cent  on  the  money. 
You  got  to  get  a  job  an'  pay  me  a  part  of  your 
wages  each  an'  eve'y  Sattiday.  An'  if  you  miss 
once  .  .  ." 

Dugg  assumed  command.  "Le's  see.  They 
pinched  three  hundred  an'  fifty  an'  you  got  the 
fifty  back  from  Joyce.  That  leaves  three 
hundred.  What  can  you  make  in  a  week, 
Joyce?" 

"Any  kind  of  a  man  can  make  fifteen  dol- 
lars," Gallopin'  broke  in.  "I  don't  want  my 
money  back  a  dollar  at  a  time,  either." 

"All  right.    Say  he  makes  fifteen  a  week.    If 


Another  Saturday  Night        217 

he  means  well  he  ought  to  be  willlin'  to  pay  you 
half  of  what  he  makes,  say  eight  a  week.  Is 
that  'nough,  Gallopin'?" 

"  It'll  be  'most  a  year  before  I  get  my  money 
back." 

"Aw,  he's  goin'  to  pay  you  int'rest,"  Dugg 
reminded,  a  note  of  kindness  in  his  voice.  "  He 
can't  pay  no  more.  He's  got  to  live." 

"  That's  all  he  orter  have,  just  'nough  to  live 
on,  an*  none  to  throw  'way  on  booze." 

"You  hear,  Joyce?"  Dugg  turned  to  Vick. 
"What  d'you  say?  You  can  take  it  or  leave  it." 

"  I  take  it,"  Vick  answered.  "  I'll  pay.  You 
can  b'lieve  me  or  not  but  when  the  robbery  was 
done  I  wasn't  responsible  for  any  act  of  mine. 
But  I  ain't  kickin',  I'll  take  my  med'cine,  even 
if  'tis  bitter  as  hell.  But  I  wanter  to  say  one 
thing — this  last  half  a  hour  has  learned  me 
somethin' — somethin'  I  ain't  ever  goin'  to 
forget." 

"Le's  hope  so,"  Gallopin'  growled. 

The  men  clumped  down  the  stairs  and  Vick 
was  alone.  With  no  word  to  Sarah  of  his 
trouble  he  shaved  and  dressed,  and  left  the 
house.  At  the  corner  of  Main  Street  he  boarded 
a  car  and  rode  out  to  the  end  of  the  line,  where 
he  walked  into  the  woods. 


218  Saturday  Nights 

Darkness  had  come  when  Vick  returned  to 
Yarder  Street.  In  the  solitude  beyond  the  city 
he  had  fought  his  fight.  Of  pride  —  stubborn 
and  reckless  of  consequence — he  had  none.  Of 
humility — honest  and  clean — he  had  his  share. 

To-morrow,  in  the  morning,  he  would  go  down 
to  Dearborn's,  seek  Dad  Updike,  and  ask,  beg  if 
need  be,  for  his  old  job.  He  would  apologize 
humbly  for  striking  the  old  fellow.  If  Dad 
would  have  none  of  him,  it  could  hot  be  helped. 
He  would  not  be  dismayed.  For  him  some- 
where there  was  a  man's  job  and  he  would  find 
it.  He  had  to.  And  life  for  him  from  now  on 
should  be  something  more  than  Saturday  nights. 


The  early  sun  of  Monday  morning  shone 
down  on  a  forlorn  Vick.  Near  the  entrance  of 
Dearborn's  he  loitered,  a  'heel  against  the  wall, 
where  Shad  had  left  him  just  before  the  factory 
whistle  shriekingly  proclaimed  the  hour  of  seven. 
That  had  been  quite  a  while  before  and  not  yet 
had  Vick  mustered  the  courage  to  face  Dad 
Updike. 

A  car  rumbled  past.  Up  at  the  corner  it 
stopped  and  Vick's  roving  gaze  noted  the  owner 
of  Dearborn's  as  he  stepped  to  the  cobbles.  As 
dignified  as  ever  the  old  man  strutted  to  the 
pavement  and  headed  for  the  office  door.  As  he 
neared  Vick  he  scanned  the  face  of  the  lad ;  then, 
recognition  coming,  he  stopped. 

"Bo-oy!"  he  roared,  and  parting  his  beard  he 
spat  into  the  gutter.  "Boy!  Where  have  you 
been?" 

The  boom  of  old  Dearborn's  voice  was  har- 
mony to  Vick.  To  be  noticed,  to  be  spoken  to, 

219 


220  Saturday  Nights 

by  that  important  personage  was  cause  for  hope. 

"ISTowheres,  sir,"  Vick  answered.  "Just  been 
knockin'  'round." 

"What  are  you  doing  standing  out  here?" 

"Nothin*,  sir." 

"Nothing?    Boy,  are  you  working?" 

"  Naw,  sir.    Not  right  now." 

"Not  right  now!"  Sarcasm,  gentle  enough, 
came  from  the  bearded  lips.  "Well,  why  don't 
you  go  to  work?" 

"I  ain't  got  no  job,"  Vick  informed  him. 

"You  get  into  the  factory,  now,  and  get  to 
work." 

"Yes,  sir,"  eagerly.  "Who  must  I  report 
to?" 

"Who?  Updike,  of  course!"  The  old  fel- 
low bellowed  his  astonishment  at  Vick's  palpable 
ignorance. 

"Dad — Mr.  Updike  —  will  he — do  you  reg- 
gon  he'll  take  me  back,  sir?" 

"Of  course,  of  course.  He's  had  a  dozen 
assistants,  I  reckon,  since  you  ran  off.  He's 
hard  to  suit,  it  seems.  He  discharged  them  all." 

'Yes,  sir,"  Vick  said  cheerfully. 

"  I'm  certain  Updike  has  missed  you,"  the  big 
boss  continued.  "  He  mopes  around  like  an  old 
hen  with  a  lost  chick." 


Back  at  Dearborn's  221 

"I'm  cert'ny  obliged,  Mr.  Dearborn,"  Vick 
declared  earnestly.  "I'm  goin'  right  in." 

The  lad  watched  him  walk  away.  At  the 
office  door  the  old  gentleman  wheeled  with 
soldierly  precision  and  passed  through,  aggres- 
sively vigorous,  his  shoulders  squared. 

In  the  factory,  Vick  stood  a  moment  on  the 
floor  of  the  hive-like  press  room,  returning  to 
the  dusky  workmen  nod  for  nod,  smile  for  smile. 
In  the  tiny  office  he  stepped  up  to  Dad,  assum- 
ing the  manner  of  one  wholly  at  ease.  But  his 
feet  were  hesitant  and  his  smile  was  dubious. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Updike,"  he  ventured. 

Mr.  Updike  leisurely  wiped  his  spectacles  and 
carefully  adjusted  them. 

"If  it  ain't  Vick,"  he  commented. 

:<  Yes,  sir,  it's  me,"  Vick  replied,  gaining  con- 
fidence. "I  met  Mr.  Dearborn  outside  on  the 
street  an'  he  told  me  to  come  in,  that  you  might 
let  me  come  back  again." 

"Are  you  sure  by  now  that  you  wanter  come 
back?"  ' 

"Dead  sure,  sir." 

"I'll  be  glad  to  have  you,  then.  It's  a  right 
hard  job  to  get  hold  of  a  man  that's  got  some 
sense."  Vick  warmed.  "When  do  you  wanter 
go  to  work?" 


Saturday  Nights 

"Right  now,"  eagerly;  then  solemnly,  "I  got 
to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  I  hit  you  that  day. 
I'm  awful  sorry.  I  ought  to  have  come  back 
an'  told  you  before,  but  my  meanness  wouldn't 
let  me.  You  was  right  'bout  the  girl  all  the 
time.  I  found  that  out." 

"Aw,  we'll  call  it  off,  we'll  forget  it,"  Dad 
answered  awkwardly.  "I  was  part  to  blame. 
Young  blood  an'  wild  is  easy  to  flare  up.  I 
ought  to  have  been  ready  for  you."  A  wide 
grin.  "  I  ought  to  have  known  you'd  lose  your 
head  an'  get  fightin'  mad." 

"I  did  that,"  Vick  gravely  admitted.  "But 
I  was  mad  at  her  an'  took  it  out  on  you." 

"You  couldn't  have  hit  a  gal,"  Dad  pro- 
tested, his  old  eyes  twinkling.  "An*  you  just 
had  to  hit  somebody." 

"  Seems  like  I  had  to,  sir." 

"An'  you  did,"  Dad  supplemented,  somewhat 
ruefully. 

"I  was  a  fool." 

"Was?"  the  foreman  dryly  questioned,  and 
peered  slyly  over  his  glasses. 

"  That's  the  word,  was,"  Vick  stoutly  affirmed. 
"I'm  done  with  her.  She  proved  to  me  what 
little  she  keered  for  anybody,  outside  of  Eva 
Wann.  I'm  cured  of  that  sickness,  Mr.  Updike." 


Back  at  Dearborn's  223 

At  noon  Dad  shared  his  lunch  with  Vick. 
The  last  crumbs  cleaned  up,  the  old  man  left  the 
room.  A  short  while  later  he  returned  and 
beckoned  to  Vick. 

"  Somebody  out  there  askin'  for  you." 

"Shad?"  ' 

"No,  that  gal." 

"I'll  see  her,"  Vick  said  evenly. 

She  stood  expectant  near  the  head  of  the  stair- 
way to  the  smoking  room.  Seeing  Vick  ap- 
proaching she  stepped  forward  eagerly  to  meet 
him. 

"Vick?     So  you're  back  at  Dearborn's!" 

"  Seems  so,"  Vick  answered. 

She  stared  at  him,  the  flush  of  joy  fading 
from  her  face.  Because  he  withheld  himself, 
Vick  now  was  something  for  the  girl  to  desire. 

"Ain't  you  glad  to  see  me,  Vick?" 

"Not  partic'larly." 

"  Vick ! "  reproachfully. 

"What's  the  use  of  lyin',  Eva?" 

"No  use  of  lyin',  but  you  didn't  use  to  ack 
this  way  to  me." 

"  Nor  you  to  me.  When  I  was  goin'  with  you 
you  didn't  need  no  door-mat  at  your  house;  you 
wiped  your  feet  on  me." 

She  stood  speechless. 


224  Saturday  Nights 

"An*  you  tried  to  use  me  just  once  too  often; 
that  day  in  the  hospital." 

"You  treated  me  dirty,  that  day!"  Eva 
flared.  "Gettin'  your  sister  to  drive  me  out!" 

"  I  didn't  want  you  there.  I  saw  your  greedi- 
ness; Gawd  knows  'twas  plain  'nough.  You 
ain't  capable  of  lovin'  nobody." 

Eva  knew  her  selfishness.  The  topic  must  be 
avoided. 

"You  loved  me  the  day  you  jumped  me  into 
the  river,"  she  reminded  him. 

"  If  you  call  that  love.  I  wanted  you.  I  was 
wild  over  you." 

"I  loved  you  for  that  —  it  made  me." 

'You  say  that,  now,  but  you  didn't  stick  to 
me  in  my  trouble.  I  needed  your  understanding 
an'  I  didn't  get  it." 

;' You  mean  the  strike?    Dill  talked  me  — 

"  I  know  he  did,"  Vick  interrupted.  "  That's 
where  you're  weak,  Eva.  You  ain't  satisfied  to 
be  loved  by  one.  You  want  to  have  a  bunch  of 
'em  danglin',  runnin'  after  your  smiles." 

"I  don't." 

"No?"    Vick  displayed  his  disbelief. 

"  I've  been  wantin'  to  see  you,  bad,  Vick." 

'Yes?",  very  impersonally. 

"I've  been  waitin'  for  you  to  ask  me  again." 


Back  at  Dearborn's  225 

"Ask  what?",  blankly. 

"Ask  me  to  marry  you."  Her  smile  once 
would  have  brought  his  immediate  surrender. 

"Now,  listen,  Eva,"  Vick  said,  confused. 
"That  ain't  no  way  for  a  girl  to  talk." 

"Why  ain't  it?",  boldly. 

"  I  don't  want  to  marry  you,  that's  one  reason 
why.  If  I  got  to  be  plain  talkin',  Eva — " 

"You  don't  care  nothin'  for  me?" 

"Nothin'." 

"You  never  did!"  she  declared  angrily. 
"  You're  a  sneak,  Vick  Joyce,  for  leadin'  me  on. 
You  forced  your  comp'ny  on  me  many  a  time 
an*  now  when  you  do  get  me  to  tell  you  my 
love—" 

"  Not  love;  it  ain't  in  you  to  love.  You'd  take 
love;  you'd  ask  for  love,  an'  you'd  get  love,  but 
you  couldn't  give  nothin'  in  return  for  it." 

Eva,  seeing  her  cause  was  hopeless,  unleashed 
her  tongue. 

"  I've  lowered  myself,  that's  what  I've  done," 
she  cried,  "talkin'  to  you  like  that!  Now  you'll 
tell  eve'ybody!" 

"I  ain't  proud  of  it." 

"  I'm  goin'  to  quit  this  here  place,  it's  gettin* 
too  common.  I  won't  work  under  the  same  roof 
with  you!  You're  a  sneak  an'  a  liar!" 


226  Saturday  Nights 

"Rave  on,  you  can't  make  me  mad."  Vick 
grinned  to  back  the  statement. 

"An'  a  dirty  scab!"  she  added,  and  flounced 
away. 

The  six  o'clock  whistle  blew  permission  to  its 
own  little  world  to  leave  the  work  for  another 
day,  and  Dad  and  Vick  met  in  the  foreman's 
office. 

"You  know,  Vick,"  Dad  began  idly,  "I'm 
sorter  glad  you're  back.  I'm  'most  ready  to  get 
outer  here  an'  I  want  to  leave  the  job  in  good 
hands." 

Vick  was  all  attention. 

"All  my  children  have  grown  up  an'  gotten 
from  under  my  feet.  Ain't  nobody  at  home  but 
me  an'  the  wife." 

'You're  good  for  a  long  time  yet,  Mr. 
Updike." 

"Maybe  so,  but  I've  already  worked  a  life- 
time an'  I  want  to  loaf  a  little  before  I  pass  on. 
I  ain't  got  so  much,  but  'nough,  I  reggon,  to 
take  keer  of  me  an'  the  old  lady. 

Vick  was  not  equal  to  suitable  comment. 

"Here's  what  I  started  to  say,"  Dad  con- 
tinued. "I  want  you  to  take  a  grip  on  your- 
self an'  take  keer  of  your  job.  Little  by  little 
I'm  goin'  to  put  the  responsibility  on  you  an'  I 


Back  at  Dearborn's  227 

want  you  to  be  able  to  stand  up  under  it.  Do 
you  reggon  you  can?" 

Vick  glowed.  "I  can  try,"  he  answered. 
"  I  ain't  goin*  to  say  I  can  do  this  or  that.  All 
I  want  is  a  try." 

"That's  the  talk,  lad.  You  act  that  way  an' 
when  I  get  ready  to  go  you'll  be  the  press  room 
foreman.  That's  a  promise." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Updike." 

Dad's  angular  features  grew  stern.  "One 
more  thing,"  he  added  sternly. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Pass  up  the  misters  an'  the  sirs,"  the  fore- 
man ordered,  breaking  into  a  smile.  "Call  me 
Dad,  lad." 

Vick  walked  home  in  a  mood  of  mild  exulta- 
tion. His  swelling  hopes  filled  the  air  about  him 
with  youth's  optimism.  The  lad  had  not  for- 
gotten his  Saturday  night  transgression  nor  the 
debt  with  which  it  burdened  him,  but  this  was 
the  first  hour  in  many  weeks  he  had  known 
peace  of  mind. 

For  he  was  headed  somewhere.  There  was 
a  reason  for  his  existence.  He  could  foresee  for 
himself  a  place  in  the  world,  a  tiny  place  and 
insignificant,  but  his  own.  And  he  would  win 
to  it. 


Chapter  18 
UNRUFFLED  WATERS 

Dad  puffed  into  the  office  one  morning  with  a 
bulky  bundle  under  his  arm.  He  heaved  it 
upon  his  desk. 

"Books,"  he  said,  sententiously.  "I  want  you 
to  have  em,  Vick.  I  won't  never  need  'em  again, 
I  reggon." 

Vick  removed  the  newspaper  wrapping. 

"  I  want  you  to  take  'em  home,  lad,  an'  study 
'em.  They're  the  best  of  my  technical  works 
an'  I  got  from  'em  a  lot  of  what  I  know.  You 
can  learn  the  same  way,  if  you  want  to." 

"I'll  study  'em,  Dad,"  Vick  promised. 

"Books  ain't  so  much  by  'emselves,"  Dad 
rambled  on  reflectively,  "but  when  you  work  at 
a  thing  eve'y  day  they're  a  big  help.  Here  in 
the  fact'ry  you  get  the  practice;  at  home  you 
can  get  the  the'ries  from  the  books." 

"I  can  easy  see  that." 

"An*  'nother  thing,"  Dad  continued,  in  the 
positive  manner  of  one  who  knew,  "they'll  keep 


Unruffled  Waters  229 

you  outer  mischief  if  you  tackle  'em  serious.  If 
you  really  an'  truly  put  your  mind  to  'em  they 
ain't  a  task,  they're  a  pleasure.  An'  they'll 
keep  you  from  runnin'  'round  at  nights." 

"They're  just  what  I  need,  Dad,"  Vick  said 
thankfully,  "  though  I  ain't  runnin'  'round  much 
these  here  nights." 

He  rewrapped  the  books  and  that  evening 
they  went  home  with  him.  Later  the  lad  laid 
out  for  himself  a  course  of  study  according  to  a 
plan  suggested  by  the  zealous  Dad. 

Thus  developed  the  habit  of  staying  home 
after  factory  hours  and  Vick's  evenings  were 
not  wasted.  He  gave  himself  diligently  to  the 
books  and  his  progress  communicated  to  his 
angular  benefactor  unfeigned  gratification.  In- 
variably after  supper  Vick  wiped  while  Sarah 
washed  the  dishes,  so  eager  was  he  to  have 
undisturbed  possession  of  the  lamp  and  table. 
The  kitchen  was  his  study.  And  Sarah  found 
keen  satisfaction  in  her  brother's  ambition. 
However  little  he  achieved  in  the  end  it  held  him 
at  home.  This  was  no  insignificant  matter  to  her 
who  had  been  the  wife  of  Jasper  Timmons. 

At  times  Vick's  mind,  despite  determined 
attempts  at  concentration,  strayed  away  to  the 
haunts  of  Main  Street,  generally  to  the  familiar 


230  Saturday  Nights 

interior  of  Gallopin'  Dick's  saloon,  but  tiie 
time  soon  came  when  the  old  life  made  little 
appeal  to  him  except  on  Saturday  nights.  It 
was  to  be  a  long,  long  time  before  the  coming 
of  Saturday  did  not  awaken  in  him  an  almost 
irresistible  yearning  to  return  to  his  old  haunts. 

More  and  more  he  sought  the  company  of 
Hesba  Wyatt.  Sunday  afternoons  the  two 
rambled  happily  through  the  woods  of  the 
plateau  beyond  The  Heights.  For  these  adven- 
tures Vick  provided  car  fare,  which  generally 
left  him  penniless.  Each  Saturday  he  gave  to 
Sarah  nearly  all  that  was  left  of  his  wages, 
keeping  for  himself  only  enough  for  existence. 
Of  course,  Gallopin'  received  his  share. 

Of  necessity,  Vick  wore  shabby  clothes  —  he 
had  no  others.  In  his  extreme  sensitiveness  he 
was  watchful  for  any  indication  on  Hesba's  part 
that  she  was  aware  of  his  threadbare  coat,  but 
he  watched  in  vain.  Their  friendship  continued 
uneventfully.  Of  entertainment  that  called  for 
expenditure  of  money  she  received  none  and  it 
did  not  appear  to  annoy  her.  The  "  little  brown 
thrush,"  as  Vick  thought  of  her,  serenely  pur- 
sued her  way,  loyal  always,  content  in  his  com- 
panionship. She  herself  was  not  fond  of  showy 
clothes  and  she  was  endowed  with  a  temperament 


Unruffled  Waters  231 

which  did  not  require  excitement  to  make  life 
livable. 

Mrs.  Cooper  rejoiced  openly  in  this  growing 
friendship. 

"They  was  made  for  each  other,"  the  old 
woman  declared  as  she  and  Sarah  watched  the 
pair  saunter  down  Yarder  Street.  "Made  for 
each  other,  I  say." 

Sarah  smiled  her  sympathy. 

"  I'm  cert'ny  glad  they're  comin'  to  get  'long 
so  nice  together  after  all  this  time,"  Mrs. 
Cooper  continued. 

"  I  am,  too,"  Sarah  candidly  admitted.  "  Hes- 
ba's  a  sensible  girl  an'  knows  how  to  take  Vick. 
He's  funny,  sometimes,  an'  hard  to  understand. 
Touchy."  * 

"Vick's  good  at  bottom,"  Mrs.  Cooper  an- 
swered, as  if  defense  were  necessary.  "All  he 
needs  is  the  right  girl  to  hold  him  steady. 
Hesba's  quiet  but  she's  deep,  Sary.  She's  deep." 

"Vick  cert'ny  has  been  doin'  good  since  they 
been  noticin*  each  other,"  Sarah  remarked. 
"Hesba's  been  a  big  help  to  him." 

"They  was  born  for  each  other — they  had  to 
get  lovin'  like,"  vowed  the  old  woman. 

As  for  Vick,  he  began  to  think  of  himself  as  in 
love  again,  but  a  sane  love  this  time,  no  heedless 


232  Saturday  Nights 

infatuation.  The  weeks  of  autumn  passed  and 
during  the  blustering  months  of  winter  Vick  grew 
to  know  the  strength  of  his  affection  for  Hesba. 
He  came  now  to  rely  absolutely  upon  her. 

Regularly  each  Saturday  at  noon  Vick 
stopped  in  Gallopin'  Dick's  on  his  way  home 
and  came  away  with  his  receipt.  Gallopin'  was 
strictly  business,  neither  friendly  nor  unfriendly, 
and  Vick  was  man  enough  not  to  dislike  him 
because  of  the  debt.  He  himself  had  incurred 
it.  He  would  pay  and  clear  his  record. 

Vague  thoughts  of  marriage  came  at  times 
but  he  knew  there  was  no  hope  until  his  debt 
was  paid,  nor  could  he  with  the  memory  of  the 
Saturday  night  delinquency  on  his  conscience 
bring  himself  to  declare  his  love.  First  he 
would  square  himself  with  the  saloon  man  and 
then,  later,  perhaps  .  .  . 

Shad  sorely  missed  the  one-time  pal  of  his 
evenings.  At  lunch  hour  at  Dearborn's  on  a 
day  toward  the  last  of  winter,  he  ran  across 
Vick  in  the  press  room. 

"What  d'you  think  of  it,  Vick?"  he 
questioned. 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  Eva  Wann  get  tin'  married,"  replied 
Shad  with  a  chuckle. 


Unruffled  Waters  233 

Vick's  brows  lifted  in  unconcerned  surprise. 
"Is  she  married?" 

"Uh-huh.    To  Dill." 

"Shad,"  Vick  spoke  thoughtfully,  "that 
makes  me  even  with  Dill,  I  reggon.  He's  done 
me  dirty  tricks  an'  I  had  it  in  for  him.  But  he's 
married  to  her,  you  say.  I'd  have  to  hate  him 
mighty  bad  to  wish  him  worse  than  that." 

The  boisterous  winds  of  March  roared  their 
forecast  of  approaching  spring.  Three  more 
Saturday  calls  upon  the  saloon  man  and  Vick 
would  be  free  of  the  incubus  that,  financially 
and  mentally,  had  burdened  him  since  mid- 
summer of  the  year  that  was  gone.  He  had 
done  wrong,  but  in  making  restitution  he  had 
acted  the  man  and  that  knowledge  gave  him 
no  small  satisfaction.  Months  of  rigid  self- 
denial  had  tempered  him  finely.  No  Saturday 
night  had  found  him  other  than  master  of  mind 
and  body. 

The  lad  doubted  seriously  if  he  could  have  so 
well  withstood  the  assaults  of  his  craving  appe- 
tite but  for  the  friendship  of  Hesba.  She  may 
have  intuitively  guessed  something  of  his 
struggle;  Vick  did  not  know.  In  his  weakest 
moments  he  often  escaped  temptation  by  seeking 
her  companionship,  and  it  had  never  failed  him. 


234  Saturday  Nights 

For  a  time,  now,  Vick  had  been  nerving  him- 
self for  the  ordeal  of  confession.  Ordeal  it 
would  be.  The  lad  flinched  from  the  task  of 
telling  the  girl  of  his  lapse  into  thievery.  But 
that  he  would  have  to  do.  He  had  no  doubt 
of  her  love  of  him.  Such  a  state  cannot  be 
concealed  from  eyes  that  continually  probe  and 
Vick's  were  ever  alert  for  signs  of  affection. 
Hesba  owned  no  guile;  she  was  as  candid  and 
direct  as  a  boy. 

Of  late,  sustained  restraint  had  been  neces- 
sary to  keep  Vick  from  blurting  out  his  love. 
And  Hesba  waited  for  him  to  speak,  confident 
that  he  would. 

When  the  hour  of  his  confession  came  it  was 
unforeseen.  With  Hesba  he  was  sitting  in  the 
front  room  downstairs  one  Sunday  afternoon 
when  a  sudden  impulse  to  tell  her  swept  him 
into  an  account  of  the  last  wild  Saturday  night. 
When  he  had  finished  he  looked  anxiously  at 
Hesba. 

"I  just  had  to  tell  you,"  he  explained. 

"Vick!"  Hesba  cried,  vibrant  with  sympathy. 
"  WTiy  didn't  you  tell  me  before?  All  this  time 
you've  had  it  on  your  mind,  by  yourself.  I 
might  have  helped  you!" 

'You  have  helped  me,  Hesba,  but  I  couldn't 


Unruffled  Waters  235 

make  myself  tell  you  before  today.  Just  now  I 
had  to;  somehow  it  busted  right  outer  me.  An* 
I'm  glad,  now,  for  there's  somethin'  else  I  want 
to  tell  you.  But  you  had  to  know  the  other 
first." 

Apprehensive,  knowing  what  was  coming,  de- 
siring to  hear  yet  half  fearful,  Hesba  drew 
away,  blushing  and  silent. 

"Ain*t  you  int'rested,  Hesba?"  Vick  asked 
anxiously. 

"Yes,"  softly. 

"You  know  I  love  you." 

"I  have — have  thought — hoped  so." 

"  Well,  I'm  tellin'  you  I  do."  In  the  manner 
of  men  in  such  matters,  when  sensing  encourage- 
ment, Vick  waxed  bold.  "An*  you  love  me, 
don't  you,  Hesba?" 

She  nodded  her  head,  her  tongue  shy,  her  eyes 
curtained  by  their  lashes. 

"Say  it,  then!"  Vick  gently  commanded. 

"I  love  you,  Vick." 

Like  a  breath  of  a  summer  breeze  the  murmur 
came,  but  the  lad  heard. 

Masterfully  he  gathered  her  to  him  and  she 
hid  her  burning  face  against  his  shoulder,  that 
he  might  not  read  what  was  written  there.  Then, 
that  he  might  know  the  depth  of  her  love,  she 


236  Saturday  Nights 

raised  her  face,  her  lips  offering  their  own  sweet 
invitation. 

The  glorious  silence  of  perfect  understanding 
enveloped  them  in  an  atmosphere  of  happy  con- 
tent, but  presently  Vick  awoke  to  the  problem 
at  hand. 

"  Hesba,  can  you  marry  me,  knowin'  that  XVe 
been—" 

"Hush!"  She  pressed  a  tender  hand  agamst 
his  mouth,  effectually  smothering  the  hateful 
word.  "You  shan't  say  it,  Vick.  It  ain't  fair. 
You  were  to  blame,  in  a  way,  but  your  chief 
fault  was  in  getting  in  that  awful  condition. 
After  that  you  were  at  the  mercy  of  any  evil 
that  came.  You  were  unlucky,  that  night.  But 
you're  a  man,  now,  not  a  boy,  and  almost  done 
with  the  taint  of  it." 

The  girl  smiled.  "I've  forgotten  what  you 
asked  me,  Vick." 

"Can  you  marry  me,  Hesba?" 

"I  don't  see  why  I  can't,"  demurely. 

"Will  you  marry  me?" 

"Yes." 

The  afternoon  hours  slipped  away  unheeded 
as  they  planned  for  themselves  a  future  in 
which  adversity  had  no  place.  They  would  clear 
the  remainder  of  the  debt  to  Gallopin'  from  their 


Unruffled  Waters  237 

path  and  would  save  a  little  money.  Then  they 
would  be  married. 

A  fortnight  later,  on  a  Saturday  noon,  Vick 
was  accompanied  from  the  factory  by  the  genial 
Lynn.  Together  they  walked  up  Main  Street. 
This  was  unusual.  The  foreman  of  the  stem- 
ming room  had  not  been  constructed  for  walk- 
ing. He  was  by  build  and  inclination  one  of 
nature's  riders.  His  home  was  in  the  suburbs, 
quite  a  distance  from  Dearborn's. 

"Vick,"  Lynn  spoke  abruptly,  "I'm  a  lucky 
man." 

"What's  wrong  now?" 

"I  asked  Sarah  last  night,"  the  mountainous 
fellow  rushed  on,  "an'  she's  goin'  to  marry  me." 

Vick  was  stricken  with  a  sense  of  loss.  "Aw, 
Lynn." 

"  You  needn't  be  worried,  Vick,"  Lynn  hastily 
continued,  as  if  he  had  been  reproached.  "I'm 
goin'  to  take  good  care  of  her  an'  little  Katie. 
I  can  an'  will." 

"  I  ain't  doubtin'  that  a  bit,"  Vick  replied,  and 
laughed  at  his  moment  of  selfishness.  "But 
what  'bout  me?" 

'You?"  The  day  was  not  overwarm,  but 
Lynn's  handkerchief  was  dabbed  continually  at 
his  forehead.  "Ain't  you  goin'  with  us,  Vick?" 


238  Saturday  Nights 

"I  don't  know.    Where?" 

"  Out  near  where  I'm  livin'  now.  Better  ad- 
vantages for  Katie,  Sarah  thinks.  She's  the 
boss,  I  reggon."  The  big  fellow  chuckled. 

"  I  ain't  so  sure  I  want  to  go  'way  out  there," 
Vick  said  musingly.  He  was  thinking  of  Hesba. 

"  Sarah  thought  you'd  go  with  us.  She  wants 
you  to.  I  do,  too.  She  made  me  promise  to  tell 
you." 

"Aw,  she  might  have  known  'twas  all  right 
with  me.  Sarah's  got  sense.  Besides,  I  ain't 
marryin'  you." 

"  She's  makin'  me  mighty  happy,  Vick." 

"Aw,  go  on,  it  ain't  so  one-sided.  I  got  eyes. 
Sarah's  gettin'  a  good  man  an'  I'm  darn  glad 
of  it.  She  deserves  better  than  what  she  had 
before.  She's  been  a  good  sister,  Lynn,  better 
than  I  been  a  brother.  When  does  it  come  off  ? " 

"Monday." 

Vick  whistled.  'You  cert'ny  ain't  losin'  no 
time." 

"  We've  had  it  planned  a  long  time,  Vick." 

At  the  intersection  of  Yarder  Street  they 
stood  and  conversed  until  Lynn's  car  came 
along.  He  clambered  aboard  and  Vick  im- 
mediately crossed  over  to  Gallopin'  Dick's.  A 
few  minutes  later  he  emerged,  in  his  pocket  a 


Unruffled  Waters  239 

receipt  in  full.  Once,  as  he  swung  b'thely  to- 
ward home,  he  patted  the  bit  of  paper  and  a 
smile  of  gratification  deepened  the  corners  of 
his  mouth. 

Sarah  and  Lynn  were  married  the  Monday 
following.  That  evening  Hesba  and  Vick  went 
for  a  walk. 

"I'm  square  with  the  world  now,  Hesba," 
Vick  told  her,  when  they  were  away  from  the 
house. 

"You  know  I'm  glad,  Vick." 

"  But  now  I've  got  another  worry.  I  don't 
wanter  go  with  Sarah  and  Lynn ;  I  want  to  stay 
where  you  are!" 

"We  can  see  each  other  often,"  the  girl  re- 
flectively replied.  "You  can  come  down  every 
evening  if  you  want  to.  But  it  wouldn't  be  the 
same  and — and  I  don't  Want  you  to  go,  either." 

They  walked  some  distance  in  thoughtful 
silence. 

"Aw,  le's  get  married  right  now — to-mor- 
row," Vick  suggested  impulsively.  "  What's  the 
use  in  waitin',  anyhow?  Le's  get  married  to- 
morrow, Hesba.  We  can  live  with  Mrs.  Cooper. 
What  d'you  say,  girl?" 

"I'm  willin',  Vick,"  answered  Hesba  quietly. 
"There's  not  much  use  of  waiting.  Of  course, 


240  Saturday  Nights 

it  wouldn't  hurt  none  if  we  had  a  nest-egg,  but 
we  can  start  out  even,  anyhow." 

"We  can  that,"  Vick  agreed,  a  bit  proudly. 

"We've  got  to  boUd  oar  future  together," 
she  continued,  "and  the  sooner  we  start  the 
better  off  well  be  in  the  long  run,  I'm  thinkin  V 

"To-morrow  then!"  Vick  was  exultant  "If 
there  was  any  way  to  harry  it  op  it  would  be 
to-night  That's  what  I  think  of  it,  Hesba." 

The  gni  laughed,  her  eyes  bright.  "No  kiss- 
ing, Vick,  here  in  the  street  You  may  be  dis- 
appointed in  me  yet  I'm  just  a  girL" 

"Yes,  bat  such  a  girl!" 

"To-morrow's  Tuesday,"  Hesba  idly  com- 


"Tuesday's  all  right;  any  day's  kicky  for  me 
to  marry  you.  That  is,  any  day  but  Sattiday." 

"Saturfay?" 

"Hesba,"  Vick  spoke  earnestly,  "once  I  used 
to  think  that  Sattiday  was  Hie  only  day  in  the 
week.  To  me  the  other  days  didn't  mean  nothin' 
bat  work.  Sundays  was  the  rottenest  of  all  — 
nothin'  to  do.  But  Sattiday  nights,  they  was 
the  beginnin'  an'  the  endin'  of  the  week.  'Twos 
only  than  that  me  an'  Shad  Fish  had  a  little 
money  an'  just's  sure  as  Sattiday  would  roll 
'round  me  an'  him  would  get  all  tangled  up  with 


Unruffled  Waters  241 

booze.  'Twas  'bout  all  we  ever  looked  forward 
to." 

"I  know,  Vick,"  Hesba  answered  gravely. 
"A  lot  of  men  are  like  that.  Give  them  their 
hours  of  Saturday  and  the  world  could  fall  to 
pieces  for  all  they'd  care." 

"That's  the  way  I  felt,"  Vick  ruefully 
admitted. 

"I  think  the  days  and  nights  are  what  you 
make  of  them  yourself.  You  don't  have  to 
whoop  and  drink  and  play  cards  to  enjoy  life. 
Of  course,  I'm  a  girl,  but  Sunday  was  always 
my  favorite  day." 

"Mine,  too,  since — " 

"Since  when?"  she  teasingly  interrupted. 

"Aw,  you  know,"  Vick  retorted,  with  an 
expansive  smile. 

Late  forenoon  of  the  next  day  saw  a  rather 
dilapidated  cab  roll  up  to  the  house  in  Yarder 
Street,  and  Mrs.  Vickery  Joyce  was  assisted  to 
the  curbing  by  her  husband.  Mrs.  Cooper, 
almost  bursting  in  her  pride,  awaited  them  on 
the  porch. 

Vick  paid  the  darky  driver,  noting  that  he 
had  left  the  munificent  sum  of  seventy  cents.  A 
whimsical  resolve  seized  him  and  he  thrust  the 
coins  into  the  driver's  hand.  Hesba  well  knew 


242  Saturday  Nights 

the  pitiable  state  of  their  finances  but  she 
laughed  gleefully. 

"Good!"  she  exclaimed.  "We'll  start  with 
nothing!" 

Vick  leaned  close.  "Nothin'  but  love,"  he 
whispered. 

Interested  neighbors  were  watching  them  and 
in  spite  of  herself  Hesba  crimsoned.  She  ran 
across  the  pavement  and  up  the  steps,  into  the 
arms  of  her  aunt. 


Chapter  19 
WHEN  A  MAN'S  A  FRIEND 

The  Saturday  that  followed  Vick  and  Hesba's 
wedding  day  was  Dad  Updike's  last  day  of 
work  at  Dearborn's.  Knowing  that  he  was 
capable,  Dad  cheerfully  relinquished  his  post  to 
the  lad.  The  old  foreman  had  looked  forward 
to  the  permanent  surrender  of  his  authority  over 
the  press  room,  to  the  time  he  might  be  assured 
of  the  lasting  steadiness  of  his  youthful  protege. 

The  evening  of  the  next  day,  Sunday,  was 
destined  to  be  a  momentous  time  in  the  life  of 
the  new  foreman.  It  was  close  to  dusk  when 
Vick  and  Hesba  returned  home  after  a  lengthy 
ramble.  They  had  Shad  to  supper.  Mrs. 
Cooper  was  at  the  bedside  of  an  ailing  neighbor. 

After  the  meal  Hesba  left  the  table  as  it  was 
and  the  trio  chatted  merrily  for  half  an  hour  or 
so.  Shad  grew  nervous. 

"  I  cert'ny  hate  to  eat  an'  run,"  he  said. 

"Aw,  you  ain't  got  to,"  Vick  responded. 
"You  ain't  got  a  date." 

243 


244  Saturday  Nights 

"Vick!"  Hesba  reproached.  "How  do  you 
know?" 

"Don't  mind  him,  Mrs.  Vick,  he's  the  same 
old  sinner,  still  thinkin'  he  knows  it  all,"  said 
Shad. 

"Anyhow,  you  didn't  use  to  have  dates,"  Vick 
laughingly  continued. 

Shad  was  arrayed  in  his  best  and  he  com- 
placently surveyed  the  neatness  of  his  apparel. 

"Used  to  ain't  now,"  he  retorted. 

He  was  smiling,  pleased  with  himself  and  the 
world,  when  Vick  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 

"  Vick,  you  sure  picked  a  real  one,"  whispered 
Shad  enthusiastically.  "Man,  she's  a  winner!" 

"Your  eyesight  ain't  failin*  a  bit." 

"  This  here  means  the  real  end  of  our  chum- 
min',  I  reggon,"  Shad  went  on,  his  voice  tinged 
with  regret.  "  You  an'  me  ran  together  a  long 
time,  Vick." 

"  We  did  that.    You  been  a  good  pal,  Shad." 

"Many's  the  headaches  we  picked  up 
together." 

"Not  lately,"  Vick  corrected,  laughing. 

"  That's  right,"  Shad  agreed.  "  We  ain't  seen 
much  of  each  other  nights  for  some  time." 

"There  wasn't  much  to  it  'cept  headaches,  to 
tell  the  truth,"  Vick  commented. 


When  A  Man's  A  Friend        245 

"I  ain't  arguin',  Vick.  You  got  onto  it 
quicker'n  me,  that's  all.  She,  Mrs.  Vick,  cut 
me  out  an*  it's  turned  out  better  that  way.  I 
can  see  it,  now.  I  didn't  mind  it  so  much  as  I 
did  the  other  time  —  when  you  an'  Eva  Warm 
was  thicker'n  thieves.  That  made  me  sick,  Vick. 
I  couldn't  see  where  you  was  betterin'  yourself 
none." 

"I  reggon  I  wasn't,"  Vick  replied  gravely. 
"  But  she  had  me,  Shad.  She  had  me  good  an' 
proper.' 

"But  your  wife,  why,  she's  fine!"  Shad 
waxed  vehement.  "Me  —  I  wouldn't  mind 
havin'  one  like  her  myself!" 

"Aw,  go  on,"  Vick  chuckled.  "Don't  forget 
you're  a  girl-hater.  How  many  times  — 

"Hold  on — wait!"  Shad  was  grinning. 
"Can't  a  man  change  his  mind?" 

"  Sure  he  can.  An'  I  b'lieve  you  got  one 
picked  out  right  now,  Shad.  You're  in  a  mighty 
big  hurry  to  leave  good  comp'ny.  Who  is  she?" 

Shad,  still  grinning,  backed  away.  "  Not  yet, 
Vick,  not  yet.  No  names,  no  blames.  I'm  just 
investigatin'  'round  a  little.  That's  all  right 
now." 

The  supper  dishes  were  washed.  Vick  had 
wiped  the  last  plate  and  was  stowing  it  in  the 


246  Saturday  Nights 

kitchen  safe  when  the  door  bell  rang.  Hesba 
stood  the  broom  in  a  corner  and  answered  the 
pealing  summons.  From  the  front  room  came 
her  cheery  call  and  Vick  hastily  discarded  Mrs. 
Cooper's  gingham  apron.  But  his  face  dark- 
ened as  he  recognized  his  visitors.  Gallopin' 
Dick  Jessup  and  the  officer,  Dugg.  Recollection 
of  another  Sunday  alarmed  the  lad.  He  did  not 
wait  for  them  to  speak. 

"  What  d'you  want? "  he  demanded.  "  Tryin' 
to  stir  up  something'?" 

"Not  a-tall,  Vick,  not  a-tall,"  Gallopin'  an- 
swered earnestly,  while  Dugg  uneasily  shifted 
his  cumbrous  feet. 

"You  can't  hurt  me!"  said  Vick  defiantly. 
"I've  told  my  wife;  she  knows  all  'bout  it!" 

"Now,  Vick,"  Gallopin'  spoke  soothingly, 
"you  hold  on  a  minute.  Lemme  do  a  piece  of 
talkin'.  We,  me  an'  Dugg,  we  got  somethin' 
important  to  say.  Ain't  we,  Dugg?" 

"We  have,"  Dugg  agreed  solemnly. 

Gallopin'  smiled,  endeavoring  to  convey  the 
friendliness  of  their  intentions.  Dugg  had 
trouble  with  his  throat  and  rumblingly  tried  to 
clear  it.  Gallopin'  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Vick,  you  got  to  admit  that  the  whole  thing 
done  you  good.  It  skeered  you  'way  from  the 


When  A  Man's  A  Friend       247 

booze  an'  straightened  you  out,  brought  you  to 
your  common  senses.  You  got  to  admit  that, 
ain't  you  now?" 

"What  thing?" 

"The  robbery." 

Vick  glowered.  "It  might  have.  What  of 
it?" 

"  'Course  it  did,"  Gallopin'  vigorously  insisted. 
"  You  had  to  pay  me  so  much  outer  your  wages 
you  didn't  have  nothin'  left  for  booze.  So,  with 
that,  an'  thinkin'  I'd  put  the  screws  to  you  if 
you  didn't  pay  reg'lar,  you  was  just  bound  to 
go  straight.  Wasn't  you?" 

Vick  would  not  answer. 

"All  right,  just  you  remember  that,"  Gal- 
lopin' continued,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had 
scored.  "  It's  well  understood  by  us  all.  I  want 
to  get  that  into  your  mind  good  an'  deep  before 
I  let  the  big  news  out.  Now  listen,  an'  hold 
your  head." 

Vick  was  wide  of  eye,  while  Hesba  in  her 
interest  stepped  closer  to  her  husband. 

'You  never  stole  that  money.  The  robbery 
was  a  fake!"  shouted  Gallopin'  Dick. 

"  What? "  The  word  shot  from  Vick's  mouth 
in  his  shocked  surprise.  He  could  not  compre- 
hend; the  statement  was  unbelievable. 


248  Saturday  Nights 

"  You  tell  me.  Come  clean  with  it  all! "  Vick 
demanded.  "An'  if  it  don't  sound  good  to  me 
I'll  knock—" 

"Vick."    Hesba's  voice  calmed  the  lad. 

"That's  what  we  come  for — to  tell  the  whole 
thing,"  Gallopin'  went  on.  "We  would  have 
come  before  but  Dugg's  been  sick  an'  just  got 
out.  I  had  to  have  him  'long  with  me.  He's  in 
this  here  biz'ness  as  deep  as  I  am.  Besides,  I 
thought  you  might  get  rambuctious  an'  I'd 
need  the  help  of  his  two  big  fists." 

The  attempt  at  jocularity  made  no  impres- 
sion upon  Vick  and  a  strained  silence  followed. 
At  length  inspiration  came  to  Gallopin'.  He 
jerked  from  a  pocket  a  very  corpulent  roll  of 
bills  and  unceremoniously  thrust  it  into  Hesba's 
hands. 

"That's  yours,"  he  told  her. 

"Mine?" 

'Yours.  I  ought  to  know.  More'n  three 
hundred  dollars  there.  An'  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
me  an'  Dugg,  Vick  wouldn't  have  a  cent  of  it. 
Or  a  wife  like  you,  I'm  bettin'." 

"  Take  the  money,  Mrs.  Joyce,"  Dugg  urged. 
"  Gallopin's  got  it  right." 

"First  lemme  say  that  what  we  done  was  for 
your  good;  not  ours."  Gallopin'  was  never  more 


When  A  Man's  A  Friend       249 

serious.  "We  didn't  stand  to  get  a  cent  outer 
the  deal  an'  besides,  we  got  your  hard  feelin's. 
The  Sattiday  night  you  picked  that  fellow  up 
in  my  place — you  remember,  Vick?" — Vick 
nodded  that  he  did.  "Dugg  come  to  me.  I'd 
just  closed  up.  'Twas  that  late.  Dugg  told 
me  you  was  out  in  the  street,  drunk  an' helpless." 

Vick's  gaze  wavered. 

"Dugg  had  just  come  on  duty.  We  picked 
you  up  an'  took  you  back  in  the  alley  where 
you  woke  up.  I  was  mighty  sorry  an'  so  was 
Dugg  to  see  you  that  way.  They  none  of 
'em  don't  last  long  with  'em  kinder  sprees.  I 
know.  So  there  in  the  alley  we  stuck  our  heads 
together  an'  schemed  up  the  robbery.  I  took 
your  cap  an'  handkerchief  an'  hid  the  money 
where  you  wasn't  likely  to  find  it  in  your  pocket. 
All  that  for  evidence — to  convict  you  in  your 
own  mind.  We  wanted  to  put  you  in  a  hole 
you  was  bound  to  dig  outer  yourself,  an'  in  the 
diggin'  make  the  man  outer  yourself  that  you 
was  meant  to  be. 

"Till  the  mornin'  Dugg  stayed  with  you  as 
much  as  he  could  an'  he  was  right  there  watchin' 
when  daylight  come.  You  went  home  up  Yar- 
der  Street.  Later  on  in  the  day,  like  we  had 
schemed,  we  went  to  your  house  an'  worked  the 


250  Saturday  Nights 

fake  on  you.  'Twas  our  play  to  get  you  skeered 
of  prison  an'  I  had  to  act  mean. 

"We  fooled  you  like  we  wanted  to.  You 
went  to  work  to  pay  the  debt  and  you  quit 
hittin'  the  booze.  I  had  my  eyes  on  you  all  the 
time.  An'  you  saved,  not  knowin',  over  three 
hundred  iron  men.  We  knew  that  some  day  a 
nice  girl  would  more'n  likely  want  you,  an'  we 
wanted  you  to  be  as  near  good  'nough  for  her 
as  a  man  could  be.  A  girl  like  your  wife  here 
couldn't  marry  a  rum-head.  Did  we  do  right, 
Vick  Joyce,  or  did  we  do  wrong?" 

Vick's  head  was  bowed  in  shame.  What 
friends  to  have  —  these  men! 

He  lifted  his  head,  blinking  eyes  that  were 
damp.  He  saw  the  outthrust  hand  of  Gallopin'. 
He  clutched  it  hard,  then  found  the  hand  of  the 
impassive  Dugg. 

"Gallopin'!  Dugg!  I—"  Vick  could  not 
talk. 

"It  was  wonderful!"  Hesba  declared. 

"  Gallopin',  I  wish  I  was  able  to  thank  you, 
an'  Dugg,  an'  tell  you  how  I  feel  *bout  it.  I 
can't— I—" 

"Don't!"  Gallopin'  roughly  interrupted,  as- 
suming his  mask  of  gruff  ness.  "Me  an'  Dugg 


When  A  Man's  A  Friend       251 

don't  want  no  thanks.  If  you  ain't  mad  with  us, 
we  ain't  mad  with  you.  That's  a  bet!" 

"Mad?  Man,  you  two  are  the  cause  of  me 
buckin'  up  an'  makin'  good  so  far's  I've  gone. 
An'  I'm  goin'  farther." 

"Aw,  somebody  had  to  do  it." 

"But  you  done  it  an'  I'm  tellin'  you  I'm 
thankful." 

"  That's  all  right,  Vick,"  Dugg  spoke.  "Just 
think  of  us  as  friends  hereafter  an*  we'll  be 
satisfied.  Just  so  you  ain't  sore  that  we  fooled 
you." 

"I  got  more  sense  than  that,  now,  I  hope," 
Vick  replied  soberly.  "You  say  there  wasnt 
no  robbery?" 

"None  a-tall  —  not  on  my  beat." 

"Who  was  the  fellow  I  was  with,  I  wonder? 
You  told  me  he  was  a  yegg  or  somethin'." 

The  men  exchanged  glances. 

"'Nother  lie,"  Gallopin'  grimly  answered. 
"He  ain't  no  yegg.  He's  a  writin'  fellow  who 
blows  downtown  eve'y  now  an'  then  to  get  on 
a  jag.  One  time  he  explained  to  me.  Some- 
times his  brains  get  clean  'way  from  him  an'  he 
has  to  slow  it  up  with  whisky.  After  he's  been 
on  a  toot  an'  has  got  over  it  he  starts  in  to  write 
again  an  don't  drink  no  more  till  the  wheels 


252  Saturday  Nights 

start  buzzin'  too  fast  again.  His  mind  got  too 
much  alive,  he  said." 

The  visitors  made  ready  to  go. 

"By  the  way,"  Dugg  spoke  placidly,  "there's 
somethin'  else  this  here  hard-face  vilyun  done  to 
you  that  I  might's  well  tell  while  the  tellin'  is 
good.  He  made  it  his  bus'ness  to  see  old  man 
Dearborn  an'  Dad  Updike  an'  fix  things  right 
for  you." 

"Aw,  Dugg,"  Gallopin'  protested  in  con- 
fusion. 

"I  ought  to  have  'spected  somethin',"  Vick 
remarked.  "Things  come  my  way  too  easy. 
'Nother  debt,  Gallopin'.  I'll  pay,  if  the  time 
ever  comes." 

"Aw,  forget  it!"  Gallopin'  growled,  with  a 
show  of  weariness.  "Dugg's  a  good  cop,  maybe, 
but  he's  got  a  woman's  tongue.  Meam'n'  no 
offense  to  you,  Mrs.  Joyce,"  he  hastily  added. 

"None  is  taken,"  the  girl  assured  him,  smil- 
ing, "but  I  must  side  with  Mr.  Dugg.  That 
kind  of  secret  is  better  told;  it  ought  to  be." 


Chapter  20 
THE  FUTURE  BECKONS 

They  were  alone.  At  Hesba's  suggestion 
Vick  carried  chairs  out  upon  the  little  square 
porch  which  overlooked  the  walk.  An  April 
shower,  short  as  it  was  torrential,  had  swept 
clean  the  cobbles  of  Yarder  Street. 

"Mr.  Jessup  has  proved  he's  a  good  man," 
Hesba  musingly  remarked,  "but  to  look  at  him 
you'd  think  he's  brutal  and  hard-hearted.  It's 
a  pity  he  has  such  a  hard  face.  Nobody  could 
be  blamed  for  thinking  he  was  mean." 

"An*  to  fool  people  still  worse  Gallopin'  talks 
mean,"  Vick  replied. 

"I  read  a  book  once,"  Hesba  went  on,  "in 
which  there  was  a  hangman.  He  was  terrible. 
The  description  of  him  made  a  lasting  im- 
pression on  me.  Mr.  Jessup's  face  reminded 
me  of  him." 

Vick  chuckled  immoderately.  "Gallopin' 
wouldn't  hang  a  fly.  Listen,  Hesba.  I'll  tell 
you  somethin'  he  told  me  a  long  time  back. 

253 


254  Saturday  Nights 

He's  got  five — think  of  it,  five!  —  little  girls 
at  his  home  that  he's  swore  to  raise  right,  an' 
he's  goin'  to  raise  'em  right,  regardless.  He'd 
die  for  any  one  of  'em,  an'  willin',  I  reggon. 
I  thought  he  was  mean,  too.  He  fooled  me,  all 
right.  But  the  man's  heart  is  so  big  he's  'shamed 
to  let  folks  know  he's  even  got  one.  Come  to 
think  of  it  I  bet  he's  always  doin'  good  on  the 
sly,  like  what  he  done  for  me." 

"He  showed  his  heart  to  us,  Vick." 

"  He  did,"  Vick  agreed.  "  I'm  in  debt  to  him 
again,  but  not  the  same  way,  I'm  thankful  to 
say." 

"  Maybe  the  time  will  come  when  you  can  get 
even." 

"  I'll  keep  on  hopin'  so." 

A  musing  silence. 

"Vick,"  Hesba  said  at  length,  "I've  been 
thinking  maybe  you'd  want  to  move  into  a  better 
neighborhood.  But  Aunt  wants  us  to  stay  with 
her  and  we  ought  to.  She'd  be  awful  lonesome 
if  we  left." 

'You  ain't  heard  me  grumblin',  girl."     , 

"No,  I  was  just  thinking." 

Vick  deliberately  surveyed  the  familiar 
thoroughfare. 

"  Somehow,"  he  drawled  contentedly,  "  the  old 


The  Future  Beckons  255 

street  don't  look  so  bad  tonight.  Maybe  it's 
'cause,"  complacently,  "we  can  move  if  we  get 
the  idea.  With  the  money  we  got  an'  what  my 
raise'll  bring  in  eve'y  week,  we  could  start 
buyin'  a  little  place  out  there  near  Sarah  an' 
Lynn." 

"We  oughtn't  to  leave  Aunt,  Vick." 
"Aw,  I  ain't  botherin'  'bout  where  I'm  livin', 
Hesba  girl.  Just  so  you're  with  me,  that's  all 
I  ask."  He  leaned  close,  whispering,  his  arms 
about  her,  his  cheeks  caressing  hers,  smooth  and 
cool  in  the  shadows.  "Where  you  are,  my 
wife 


